


The Strength in Vulnerability

by AngryKitten



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged Up, Anxiety, Cigarettes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epilepsy, Epileptic!Kuroo, Multi, Nurse!Sugawara, Slow Burn, Sports Injury, established KuroDai, except okay they kind of skip over the friends part, not-super-serious medical emergencies, oisuga, seizure (offscreen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5505950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryKitten/pseuds/AngryKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long after graduating from high school, Sugawara has all but forgotten his old enmity with the obnoxiously smooth Oikawa Tooru. Until he shows up in Suga's life once more and refuses to be ignored. </p>
<p>This is as much a get-together fic as it is a study of Suga and Oikawa's characters. Both of them have an awful lot going on beneath the surface, and I really wanted to explore how their respective intelligences and insecurities would interact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eight Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> Update: this fic has [fanart!!!](https://twitter.com/BeeCusp/status/707837680403537920)  
> I want to curl up in a ball with these pictures clutched to my chest, they are so gorgeous. Thank you so, so much BeeCusp!!

By hour ten of his twelve-hour shift, Suga was starting to feel the exhaustion creeping in. His feet were sore, his stomach was complaining from lack of sustenance, and he felt the beginnings of brain-fog descending at the edge of his consciousness. Sometimes, his energy propelled him through even the most grueling of shifts at the hospital, but this was not one of those times.

His coworker, Satoko, breezed past the nurses’ station with an armload of charts. “Oh, thank god,” she said when she saw Suga. “Can you handle some of these? I gotta go pull some glass out of a guy’s foot before he wakes up all the coma patients.”

Sure enough, Suga could hear someone wailing faintly in the background. “Is he still in the waiting room?”

Satoko leaned heavily on the nurses’ desk. “God no, I stuck him in one of the family rooms so he wouldn’t spark a rebellion.” The family rooms were supposed to be reserved for loved ones receiving bad news, but really, they came in handy for any situation that required patients’ privacy. And occasionally, doctors’ privacy.

Suga held out a hand for the files. Satoko smiled gratefully, and divided the stack in two, handing one half over. Suga eyeballed his half of the pile, and counted four files. It was a busy night, though by no means the busiest he’d ever dealt with.

“Thanks, Suga-kun, you’re a lifesaver.”

Suga laughed weakly. God, he was tired today. “That’s my job. Now go deal with glass guy.”

Satoko winked and hurried off. Suga looked down at the stack in his arms, reading the post-it note that Satoko had stuck to the top of the pile, with the bed numbers of each patient hastily scrawled beside a very brief description of the person’s symptoms. Broken arm, dehydration, migraine, abdominal pain. Simple enough, and no one seemed to be dying in the next thirty minutes, which was always a good thing.

He visited the migraine patient first, but Satoko had already called the attending doctor, so there was nothing more Suga could really do. The second bed he stopped at was the broken arm, belonging to a sullen teenage girl; Suga inserted an IV just above the girl’s opposite wrist, chatting softly to distract her from the needle, and left her and her grim-faced mother to wait for an orthopedic resident to set the bone. Two down, two to go. The abdominal pain guy had fallen asleep on the bed, his girlfriend absently stroking his arm. Suga asked her a couple of questions, but as long as he was asleep, the case didn’t seem particularly urgent. Suga told her he’d check back in twenty minutes if they hadn’t yet been seen.

That only left dehydration. Suga shuffled through the charts in his hand, shifting the final case to the top of the stack as he strode over to the patient’s bed. Behind the curtain, he could hear arguing in hushed, low voices, and Suga fought the urge to cringe unprofessionally. These were always the worst, the patients who argued. Bad if they argued with the doctors, worse if they argued with their spouses or friends and set off a massive, explosive fight in the middle of the emergency room. And Suga was always stuck with these cases, especially since the other nurses had figured out early on that he was somehow gifted in the art of diffusing patient anger. When it could be diffused, that is; sometimes, there was nothing anyone could do to prevent the patient's emotions from bubbling over like an active volcano.

Suga cleared his throat before pushing the curtain aside, trying to give whoever was behind it some warning of his presence. The voices died an instant before Suga stepped inside.

“I’ve been told you’re here for dehydration, Mr…” Suga scanned the chart to locate the man's name. He didn’t get a chance to find it, though.

“Refreshing-kun?”

Suga looked up, startled. He hadn’t heard that particular nickname in eight years.

Oikawa looked older, obviously, and was a bit more filled-out than in high-school. But in most respects, according to Suga’s memory, he hadn’t changed at all. The hair was the same, complete with the one stray cowlick that couldn’t be tamed even by the hospital pillow he lounged on. He was pale, but that was usually the case with the people who came into Emerg. Beside him, Iwaizumi had his fists in his pockets, jaw clenched, looking just as pissed off as ever.

After a beat, Suga regained his composure. “Long time no see, Oikawa-san. And you too, Iwaizumi-san, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Iwaizumi drawled, “unlike this idiot. He passed out at work an hour ago.”

“Relax, Iwa-chan, it was just dehydration. I feel way better already.” Oikawa held up the hand where his IV was inserted for emphasis, tubes trailing off the bed.

“Put that back before you pull the tubes out, asshole,” Iwaizumi snarled.

Suga fought the urge to laugh. Eight years, and nothing had changed between these two. “It’s okay, Iwaizumi-san, the IV shouldn’t come out that easily. Though I can tape it down more firmly if you’re worried. When were you admitted, Oikawa-san?”

“So formal, Refreshing-kun. You used to call me Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and answered for him. “Around eight, I think.”

Suga flipped his wrist up to check the time. His watch, a gift from Daichi, was made of bright blue plastic. Metal watches were so hard to clean when you had someone else’s blood all over your wrists. “In that case, we’ll keep you here another forty-five minutes, just for monitoring. I’ll be back at nine with your discharge papers.”

“Leaving so soon?” Oikawa’s tone was bordering on flirty. Something twisted in Suga's gut.

“If we weren’t in a hospital now I would punch you,” Iwaizumi said flatly.

“Actually,” Suga put in before closing the curtain, “a hospital is by far the best place to punch someone. If you’re going to need stitches, might as well not have to sign in twice.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “I like the way you think, Sugawara.”

“Mean, Refreshing-kun!” Oikawa whined, flopping around on the hospital bed. “So mean!”

 

*** 

 

When they first met, Suga had immediately disliked Oikawa. The over-confident swagger was a huge fucking turn-off, and that was before Oikawa even opened his mouth. The blinding smiles, the gentility with which he treated his fangirls, it all seemed so superficial. Like he was only a kind person because people expected him to be. Like he would have otherwise cared not one bit about anyone but himself. Suga couldn’t stand that in a person. But if Oikawa truly cared about anyone else, Suga couldn't see it.

On the court, Oikawa was a psychological manipulator, his serves not only physically pinpointed to reduce the opposing team’s defenses but mentally pinpointed as well. He could find a team’s psychological weak spot just by looking at them, and it was, quite frankly, terrifying. Suga had done his level best to raise his team’s spirits during that first official match against Seijoh at the Interhighs, but it hadn’t been enough. They had gotten so close, only to be swiftly crushed in the palm of Oikawa’s hand. And afterwards, in the locker room – Suga had never actually told anyone about this, not even Daichi – Oikawa had caught his eye, and winked, _winked_ at him. As if to say, thank you for fighting and losing. Thank you for giving your all, and still not being good enough.

That was when dislike boiled over into real hatred. Because if Suga had fought hard that day, and he damn well had, it was definitely fucking not for Oikawa Tooru’s sake. He’d ridden home on the bus by himself, refusing Daichi’s usual offer to save him a seat, silently fuming. Fine, then. Oikawa wanted to make this all about himself? Alright, they could make it all about Oikawa. But Suga would make him fucking regret it.

 

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about that day at the Interhighs, not even after Oikawa left the hospital. Suga had handed him the discharge papers to sign with a stony expression that left even Iwaizumi looking askance. When his shift was over, he let Satoko prattle on about her sister’s love life, occasionally offering an absent “yes,” or “really?” in response, but his mind was still far away. He thought about calling Daichi on the train home, but ultimately decided against it.

The Interhighs had only been the start of their rivalry. Oikawa, having sensed a small victory over Suga, had continued to provoke him at every available opportunity. Turning up at Karasuno’s practice matches for no good reason. Nettling him at competitions, when he would whisper snide comments just loud enough for Suga to hear as they passed each other in the halls. He wanted that reaction, that flash of anger that Suga had stupidly shown him after the Interhighs. Suga figured this out pretty quickly, and after that, it was easy to school his features into placid non-reaction. Because he wanted Oikawa frustrated more than he wanted to vent his own anger. It was far more satisfying than giving in, to watch Oikawa squirm when his manipulations were defeated.

Suga got off the train and headed into the night toward his cozy little apartment, replaying every interaction he'd ever had with Oikawa. The last time they spoke was particularly fresh in his mind. It had been rather confusing and lacking in closure for both parties. Or, at least, Suga guessed it had been the same for Oikawa, he had never gotten the chance to offer an explanation for his own behaviour. As Suga got in the door, stripping his winter clothes off with tired, numb fingers, he couldn’t help but acknowledge his own surprise that today’s Oikawa had been so… civil. I mean sure, it had been a ridiculously long time since they’d last talked, but Suga had always pegged Oikawa as the type to hold grudges for life. Maybe, in that final conversation after Spring Highs, something had changed between the two of them. Maybe Oikawa had actually sorted out his own feelings and realized how much of a dick he’d been to Suga.

Or maybe Suga had simply caught him off guard at the hospital, and he hadn’t had a chance to revive his old anger. Both were equally possible. Finally, teeth brushed and pyjamas on, Suga collapsed into bed. It was probably all moot, anyway, it wasn’t like he was going to see Oikawa again.

 

*** 

 

“Do you think he still hates me?” Oikawa mused on the cab ride home. Beside him, Iwaizumi groaned and leaned his head back on the seat.

"It wouldn’t be fucking surprising, idiot.” Iwaizumi ran a hand across his head, stroking back his hair. He’d recently started cutting it super short, in a similar style to the one Watari had always sported. Oikawa had taken to petting him when Iwaizumi wasn’t expecting it, to feel the soft, downy carpet of Iwaizumi’s head. Now was probably not the time for that, though, not when Iwa-chan was already mad about having to race downtown after receiving a panicked call from one of Oikawa’s coworkers.

“I wonder if he’d talk to me. If I went back there.”

“That’s your plan?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Corner him at work when he’s elbow-deep in someone’s intestines and ask for forgiveness?”

“Iwa-chan! Gross!”

“He’s a nurse, Oikawa, he doesn’t have time for you.” Iwaizumi gazed out the window. “He’s got better things to do, like saving lives or cleaning up bodily fluids or something.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m revoking your best-friend status for the night.” Oikawa turned pointedly toward his own window, fogging up the glass with his breath as he sighed dramatically for Iwa-chan’s benefit.

He and Suga-chan had left things weirdly unfinished. He hadn’t expected their last interaction to be, well, the last interaction (until now, at least). It hadn’t felt at all like an ending, but then they had graduated and moved on and whatever was building between them had been left abandoned in the parking lot of Karasuno high school.

He didn’t hate Sugawara. And he had a feeling that, by the end of it, Sugawara didn’t hate him either. If Suga-chan had hated him, he would have yelled. Screamed his head off, maybe thrown a few punches. Oikawa had deliberately provoked him, deliberately tested the boundaries of this strange, hate-fuelled relationship, seeing how far he could push before Suga-chan gave up the façade and fucking _fought_ like Oikawa knew he wanted to. Instead, he'd left Oikawa standing there, alone, feeling like he’d been sucker-punched when in reality, Sugawara hadn’t laid a hand on him.

Refreshing-kun had a nasty habit of overturning every single one of Oikawa’s expectations. First, when they played each other and he showed an unexpected aptitude for game strategy. It had almost cost Seijoh their victory at the Interhighs. That was the first time that Oikawa had been thoroughly unnerved by the unassuming boy with the charming freckles and silver hair. Oikawa recognized, then, the same mask that he wore himself. The calm, carefree, even slightly dumb demeanor he put on to hide the calculations he was making under the table, the reserves of intelligence he drew upon to finish his opponents before they knew he’d begun. Suga’s mask looked different from his own, but he wore it just the same. He was the wild card, the only member of the Karasuno volleyball team that Oikawa couldn’t read like an open book.

The first real glimpse he got of the Suga underneath was in the changerooms after their narrow victory at Interhighs. It hadn’t been Oikawa’s proudest moment, if he were to be truly honest with himself (which he rarely ever was). Iwaizumi would have wrung his neck, had he seen it. But Oikawa really, really needed to see if he could shake this guy’s confidence, so he did the most obnoxious, most knife-twisting thing he could think of; he winked at Suga-chan. And he got his wish. For a moment, pure rage flashed in Sugawara’s eyes. Oikawa knew that look; had seen the same thing on his own face, flipping through the official match photography of his last game with Shiratorizawa. There was one particular photo of Oikawa in the air, palm about to connect with the ball as he served. It was three points before the end of the match, three points from defeat for Seijoh. Ushiwaka wasn’t in the photo, but Oikawa remembered the look they shared before the serve, when Oikawa let his competitive fire kindle low in his gut until he burst into motion, channelling all of his anger, his warrior’s spirit, into that single serve.

Shiratorizawa’s libero had received it, just barely, turning the game toward Seijoh's defeat. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Sugawara had worn the same look, fingers visibly itching to spike Oikawa’s head like a volleyball into the ground. After a moment, Sugawara had stalked away, white-knuckled, and Oikawa knew he’d won that round.

He also knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

 

***

 

“Suga-kun, there’s someone here to see you.” Satoko leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in Suga’s ear. “I think he was here last week, too. Did you guys hit it off or something?”

Suga gave her a confused look, then realized who it probably was. Much to Satoko’s confusion, he let out a low moan. Oh please, for the love of god, don’t let it be Oikawa.

Of course it was Oikawa.

“Refreshing-kun!” Oikawa sang, popping up out of his chair. He was less pale this time, and smartly dressed, his black wool overcoat hanging loose over a shirt, vest, and tie combination that would have been very sexy, had it not been Oikawa wearing it. Suga refused to think of Oikawa as sexy. That would be letting him win.

“What are you doing here, Oikawa?” Suga asked, exasperated already.

“Papercut,” said Oikawa, holding up one finger and grinning wolfishly. 

Suga dropped his arms to his sides. He wasn’t in the mood to play along. “What are you really doing here, Oikawa?” he asked, sinking into one of the teal-and-beige waiting room chairs.

Oikawa sat down next to him, looking far too pleased with himself. “We didn’t get a chance to catch up last time. How have you been?”

“Busy, actually. Considering the fact that I’m still at work. I thought that might have been obvious to you.”

Oikawa was undeterred. “Fine, fine,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “I’ll let you get back to your sick and dying patients. They’re clearly more important than your oldest and dearest friends.”

“We weren’t friends, Oikawa. And certainly not oldest and dearest.”

Oikawa looked affronted. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends now, Suga-chan! I’m hurt that you would cast me off so easily.”

Suga had to end this. He had patients. And zero energy right now to be dealing with Oikawa, of all people. “If I promise to meet you for coffee, will you let me get back to work?”

Oikawa brightened visibly. It was impossible to tell if his smile was sincere, so Suga didn’t bother to decipher it. “Coffee would be wonderful! There’s this new café a couple of blocks north that I’ve been _dying_ to try out, I’ll take you there! When are you free?”

“Text me,” Suga said, “here’s my number.” He rattled it off far too quickly, but Oikawa got it down anyway. Suga sighed and hauled himself to his feet. He was probably going to regret giving Oikawa his phone number, but at least he could go back to work now in peace. Suga waved goodbye over his shoulder, without even turning around.

 

 

When his shift was over, Suga checked his phone. As expected, he had a message.

 

_From: Unknown Number_

_> Coffee with Refreshing-kun, how exciting! Let me know when you’re free!_ ヽ(゜∇゜)ノ

 

How the hell did he even make that emoji on a cell phone? Never mind, Suga didn’t want to know.

“So,” Satoko purred in Suga’s ear, “who are you texting? Is it the guy from earlier?”

“The guy from earlier,” Suga said, shoving his phone in his pocket so he could cross his arms, “is my sworn enemy. Unfortunately yes, I’m also texting him.”

“Sworn enemy, huh? Sounds hot.”

Suga shrugged on his coat. “You’re the worst, Sato-kun. The absolute worst.”

“You going to see him again?”

Suga closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “Yes,” he muttered.

“Hah! Knew it!” Satoko giggled and dodged Suga’s swipe at her. “So tell me, how did you become sworn enemies?” She gasped. “Have you two had steamy hate-sex?”

“Oh my god, Sato, no. We have not had hate-sex. Just the hate, there was no sex involved.” Suga thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets, willing his face not to flush with embarrassment.

“If you say so,” Satoko chimed, pulling her arms through the sleeves of her bright purple jacket. “I’m still waiting for that story, by the by.”

Suga tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Remember when I said I was on the volleyball team in high school? He was from another school, we played them a couple times in competitions. The same position too, we were both setters.”

“Oh, so you were like sports rivals?” Satoko hummed thoughtfully. They stepped out of the hospital doors into the night, flurries of snow blowing past. Suga huddled into his scarf, hunching his shoulders against the cold.

“Not exactly.” That had been Kageyama, not Suga. Suga couldn’t even hold a candle to Oikawa’s setting skills. “We just developed this antagonism off the court, I don’t really know how it happened.” Yes, he did actually. It had started with that infernal wink, the one that had played on loop in the back of Suga’s mind since Oikawa had shown up in the ER the other day. He just wasn’t fully ready to talk about it, especially not with someone as perceptive as Satoko.

“Antagonism?” Satoko prodded.

“Yeah, it was the weirdest thing, too. I could never tell if he was trying to threaten me or flirt with me, it always felt like a bit of both. All he wanted out of me was a reaction, though, so I never gave him one.” Suga looked up at the sky, letting a light smattering of snow fall on his face. He blinked to keep the snowflakes out of his eyes. “But he wouldn’t leave me alone, and eventually it started getting out of hand. My teammates got involved, and I had to shut it down. That was eight years ago, and I hadn’t spoken to him since. Until now, I guess.”

“Ten bucks says he had a crush on you,” Satoko said, flashing Suga a grin.

Suga laughed outright. “Could be, I honestly have no idea. You can never tell with Oikawa.”

“That’s his name? Oikawa?”

“Yeah, Oikawa Tooru. We used to call him the Grand King of the Court. He was pompous enough to deserve the title, that’s for certain.”

Satoko pulled her keys out of her pocket and unlocked her car. Ten feet ahead of them, her headlights blinked. “Well, this is me. Remember, if you see him again, I want a full run-down, no details spared. Promise?”

“Sato-” Suga whined, playfully.

Satoko pulled him into a brief hug. “No. Details. Spared. Okay? Goodnight, Suga-kun.”

Satoko got into her car and pulled away. Suga turned and headed for the train station, playing absently with his phone in the pocket of his coat. Something was going to happen with Oikawa, he was fairly sure of it. But with more questions than answers at this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to promise Satoko anything just yet.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my lovely OiSuga-shipping marshmallows!
> 
> What I love about OiSuga (as opposed to IwaOi) is that Suga really won't let Oikawa get away with anything. Iwa-chan will get mad and throw volleyballs, but that's still the reaction Oikawa expected and was looking for. Iwaizumi brings out the taunting side of Oikawa's personality, even if it's loving, deep down. Suga, on the other hand, is unpredictable, and that actually makes Oikawa stop and think. And maybe confront some things about himself he would never have been forced to confront, in Iwaizumi's presence. Iwa-chan loves him too much to make him face the things that hurt him most, but Suga could love him in a completely different way that kind of forces him to be a better person.
> 
> (Edit: found a better way to format the texts)


	2. It's Never Just Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things from the past are revealed. It does not go well.  
> Alternate title: Thank God for Iwa-chan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably put this on some kind of schedule but I got impatient and wanted to post it now. Here you goooo

“You’re going to coffee with who now?” Kuroo sat forward on his barstool, attention fixed on Suga. Daichi was still coughing, having nearly choked on his tea when Suga mentioned Oikawa’s name. The three of them were hanging out in Kuroo and Daichi’s kitchen, Suga cooking while his friends sat at the counter and watched. Daichi had made tea for everyone, and that counted as helping, while Kuroo pretended not to hear any and all requests to chop the vegetables or find Suga the salt. Bokuto was coming over later, with Akaashi; while Bokuto was an enthusiastic sous-chef, Suga did not want a repeat of the last time they let him in the kitchen. Suffice to say, it was a good thing Suga was trained in first aid.

“Oikawa,” Suga repeated, not looking up from the sizzling wok. “He came by my work. Again.” Suga didn’t want to know how Oikawa had gotten a hold of his work schedule for the week. Probably chatted up a secretary or three. Suga wondered idly if Oikawa still had a fan club, he was still good-looking enough for it.

“But you hated him in high school,” said Daichi, big brown eyes betraying his confusion.

“I didn’t hate him completely. Only a little.” Suga didn’t even find his own words convincing. But in a way, it was true.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re having coffee with him,” Kuroo put in. “You don’t have coffee with people you hate, even if you only hate them a little.”

“He wouldn’t leave me alone, is that reason enough?”

Kuroo cocked an eyebrow. “And having coffee with the guy is going to make him leave you alone?”

Suga bit his lip. “Shit. You’re right. But if I ditch him now, he’s only going to come back to the hospital.”

“So go,” said Daichi, “see what he wants to talk about. Might be interesting, who knows.”

“Interesting how?” Suga mused. “As in, get-your-popcorn, these-two-are-about-to-rip-each-other’s-throats-out interesting?”

“Something like that,” Kuroo said, and winced as Daichi kicked him under the table.

Suga switched off the burner and took some bowls out of a cabinet. He’d been over at Daichi’s frequently enough to know where they kept all of their kitchenware without having to ask.

“Do you really think he still doesn’t like you?” Daichi asked. “I mean, if he didn’t, why would he come back and find you again?”

“I don’t know, closure? To ask me what the hell happened that day?” Suga separated the stack of bowls and began doling out fried rice. “Maybe to shove something in my face? I’m not a mind reader, Daichi.”

“You know, not being psychic is seeming like an awfully good reason to go,” Kuroo added, unhelpfully. “You might even figure out what he’s thinking. Or, you know, we could sit here and overanalyze it some more, that works too.”

Suga shot him a glare. Kuroo returned his gaze with an exaggerated shrug.

“So you both think I should go," said Suga.

Daichi played with his chopsticks. “I think you want to go. Therefore, in the interests of your own wellbeing, I’m telling you to go.”

Suga scowled at Daichi. “I told you, I’m only going to get him to leave me alone. Getting Oikawa Tooru out of my life is in the interests of my wellbeing.”

He jabbed at his bowl of fried rice, angry that somehow, Oikawa had successfully ruined his mood, without even being present in the room. The sooner Suga was rid of him, the better.

 

 ***

  

Oikawa stirred yet another packet of artificial sweetener into his vanilla latte, one eye on the window. Just in case, he’d arrived early, but now Oikawa was getting restless and it still wasn’t quite eleven. He bounced one leg under the table, sipping delicately at the thin layer of foam, and watched for a silvery head among the snowflakes outside.

Suga-chan arrived promptly at eleven, but he hesitated at the door. Oikawa leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table to watch through the window as Sugawara dithered. He seemed to be having an internal debate with himself, complete with a full set of facial expressions, ranging from irritation to anxiety to firm resolve. On that last one, he looked up and inadvertently locked eyes with Oikawa through the window. Oikawa plastered on a smile and waved brightly. There was nothing Sugawara could do now but come in and join Oikawa, whether he liked it or not.

Oikawa one, Refreshing-kun zero. Good way to start a match, he thought to himself.

“Suga-chan! I’m so glad you came!” Oikawa stood to greet him, ever the gentleman. Sugawara shrugged off his coat and sat down across from Oikawa’s coffee cup. “Can I get you anything? My treat!”

“Just a small coffee would be great. Thanks, Oikawa.”

“No problem at all!” Oikawa practically skipped off to the counter to place his order. Two minutes later, he presented a small coffee to Suga-chan with a flourish. Sugawara thanked him again, added a single packet of sugar, (only one? The shock! The horror!) and stirred. His eyes kept flicking back to Oikawa, uncertain.

The ball was in Oikawa’s court, so to speak. And his serves were deadly. Oikawa eyed his opponent, choosing an angle of attack; nothing too difficult to start, or the game would be over before he’d really warmed up.

“So you’re a nurse now? That seems… fitting. I bet you’re good at it.”

Sugawara gave him a look. “Um, thanks? And what do you do?”

“Me? I work at a marketing firm. With one of your old schoolmates, actually.”

“Oh? Which one?”

Oikawa traced the rim of his cup with one long finger. “Ennoshita. Chikara, I think his name is. Wasn’t he on the volleyball team too? Second string, maybe?”

“Yes, he was. It’s been ages since I’ve heard from Ennoshita, is he doing well?”

“Quite well, he does graphic design and videography for the advertising department. Have you stayed in touch with anyone else from high school?”

The ball was still in the air. Oikawa was giving Suga-chan easy volleys so far. But Sugawara’s eyes hardened at Oikawa’s last question, and he had a feeling that it wouldn’t stay in play forever. Someone had to win this point.

“You want to talk about high school? Is that why I’m here?”

“So serious, Suga-chan. We’re here to talk about whatever you want.” Oikawa sipped his coffee, waiting for Suga’s next move.

“Whatever I want.” It was a chance ball. Offering Sugawara the opportunity to slam past Oikawa’s defenses. The question was whether or not he would take it.

Sugawara examined his coffee cup. “Okay. What about me is so interesting to you?”

Oikawa smiled. An unexpected approach, but he liked being kept on his toes in a game. “Back then or right now?”

“Both,” answered Sugawara.

“Very well. Back then, I admired your composure, your game sense. And your intelligence. I bet a lot of people underestimated you, but I like to think that I never did.”

Suga-chan was working to keep his face impassive, Oikawa could tell. But he couldn’t hide his surprise at Oikawa’s bluntness, not entirely. Point two for Oikawa, and he still had the serve.

“Right now, I’m interested for the same reasons. Plus, we’ve matured a bit since we were seventeen. You probably have new tricks up your sleeve, I know I do.”

“Fair enough,” Sugawara replied. “And yeah, you seem like the kind of person who would have tricks up his sleeve.”

“Was that a backhanded compliment, Suga-chan?” Oikawa asked, with a devilish grin. “Colour me impressed. Someone’s sharpened his claws since last time.”

Sugawara faltered. Oh, that was interesting. Was he self-conscious about being mean? Did Suga-chan think that needling Oikawa made him a bad person? That, Oikawa could use.

“Sorry,” Sugawara muttered. Yup, what Oikawa saw in Suga-chan’s eyes looked a lot like guilt. Three-nothing in Oikawa’s favour – this was going better than he’d hoped. It was time to get what he came for.

 

***

 

Suga sipped his coffee, feeling wretched already. He really shouldn’t have come. He could withstand with some pestering at work, but not this, not fighting on Oikawa’s turf, where he couldn’t seem to get his footing. He just wanted this to be over as soon as humanly possible.

Whether it was out of deference to Suga, or just his own impatience, Oikawa chose that moment to get right to the point. “You and I,” he purred in that slow, honeyed voice, “we never got much of a finale, did we?”

Suga raised a brow. “A finale? Were you expecting a song-and-dance number? Fireworks, maybe?”

Oikawa smirked. “Touché, Suga-chan. No fireworks. Some answers would be nice, though.”

“You want to know why I took pity on you?” Suga asked, hesitantly. It couldn’t be this easy. Oikawa was giving him total control of the conversation, willingly giving the upper hand, and it sat leaden and wrong in Suga’s stomach. Oikawa never relinquished control unless he wanted something, but Suga couldn’t yet tell what the hidden cost would be.

Oikawa folded his hands on the table, slow and deliberate. “Pity, was it? Well, then. I’m all ears, Refreshing-kun.”

 

***

 

Their rivalry came to a head after the Spring Highs. Oikawa hadn’t seen Suga-chan since Seijoh’s devastating loss, not since their eyes met across the court after the last point had been scored. Their defeat sat like a lead ball in the pit of Oikawa’s stomach, long after they left the court. Oikawa was restless for weeks after, practicing his serves until the early hours of the morning, when a very grumpy Iwa-chan would usually drag him home and force him to sleep. Something was still amiss, and by now, whenever he needed to feel in control, his thoughts would inevitably come back to that one silver-haired setter who never failed to surprise. Maybe if he could finally gain the upper hand with Sugawara, he’d feel better. The two of them were tense, circling each other like attack dogs. Oikawa needed to bring this to a head, to force one of them to strike.

It didn’t take much snooping to find out when the Karasuno volleyball team was having its next training camp. Oikawa fully expected Sugawara to be there, even if he was no longer on the team, and he wasn’t disappointed. Oikawa found him in Karasuno’s main gym, tossing to Baldy-chan, helping him practice his straight spike. Oikawa slouched against the doorframe, unmoving. His attention was on Sugawara, but instead of watching Suga-chan he fixed his gaze on Kageyama, practicing his accuracy on a line of empty water bottles at the other end of the gym. Suga-chan wouldn’t be fooled, though, he would know Oikawa hadn’t come this far to pester the first-years.

Sugawara didn’t look at him either, even when Baldy was eyeing Oikawa warily from across the gym. Oikawa would have done the same thing, in Sugawara's position; Suga-chan knew he was here for attention, and the best way to bother Oikawa would be to refuse to give it to him.  

“Practicing alone again, are we Tobio-chan?” Oikawa put on his sweetest tone, knowing it would drive both Kageyama and Suga-chan insane. He was not disappointed; in his peripheral vision, he saw Sugawara’s hands clench.

“Oikawa-san,” said Kageyama, his permanent scowl deepening.

Oikawa had picked this moment deliberately, as Shrimpy-chan was nowhere to be seen. Kageyama had forged some sort of bond with the tiny orange first-year, drawing strength from the sheer force of Shrimpy’s friendship. Without him, Kageyama was vulnerable, and Oikawa pressed his advantage.

“And here I thought you were finally starting to make friends. Was it just Shrimpy-chan, then? Do your other teammates not deserve your attention?”

That was the push Sugawara needed to get moving. Oikawa smiled just a fraction wider as Sugawara began to march toward him, teeth bared. He looked like he wanted blood.

Kageyama took a step toward Oikawa, squeezing the volleyball in his hands until his knuckles started to whiten. “You don’t get it. I trust my team. We can win.”

“If you trust your team, Tobio-chan, then why would you be angry with me?” Oikawa examined his nails as he spoke. “Or maybe it’s because they don’t trust you. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

Sugawara reached Oikawa, cutting him off as he grabbed the lapels of his Aoba Johsai jacket. “Outside,” he snarled. “Now.”

“Refreshing-kun! Nice to see you too!”

“Now, Oikawa!” Sugawara barked, dragging Oikawa out the door by his collar.

“Gotta run, Tobio-chan, enjoy your practice!” Even now, being dragged bodily out of the gym, Oikawa’s voice was still dripping with insincerity. He felt Sugawara’s fists tighten on his jacket, and smugness rose in his chest.

Sugawara heaved him out, away from the gym, all the way to the Karasuno High School parking lot. He released Oikawa with a final shove, and Oikawa stumbled a bit before regaining his footing. Sugawara’s face was a storm cloud ready to burst.

Suga-chan took a deep, shuddering breath. When he spoke, his tone was lower and darker than Oikawa had ever heard it. It was also surprisingly even.

“You can antagonize me, Oikawa. You can rub my defeat in my face, you can poke fun at my failings all you want. I know I’ll never be as good at setting as you. I’ve accepted that, and if you need to step all over me to feel better about yourself, then fine.” Sugawara took a step forward. Oikawa stood his ground, eyes fixed on Sugawara’s face. “But I will not, I repeat, _I will not_ let you hurt my teammates. Kageyama is not here for your amusement, he is a person. With his own fears, and doubts, and emotions, and I will keep you from killing his spirit if it’s the last thing I ever do for this team. Do you understand me?”

Oikawa didn’t speak. Sugawara waited, having to tilt his head up to look Oikawa in the eye. Oikawa took a moment to enjoy his own height; he was only ten centimetres taller than Suga-chan, but they were close enough for Oikawa to tower over him. The air around them seemed to crackle and fizz with electricity, ready to break at any moment. Oikawa heard voices coming from the direction of the gym, but Sugawara didn’t turn to scold his teammates. Oikawa didn’t look either, maintaining the deadlock between the two of them. As long as it took for Sugawara to break first. He would wait. He would have his victory.

But it never came. Sugawara’s face changed from anger to something else entirely. Surprise, then understanding, and finally, sympathy. Oikawa took a step back. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sugawara’s gaze dropped. “This isn’t going to work, Oikawa. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for, not from me.”

Oikawa propped his hands on his hips, pouring venom into his tone. “Really? And what am I looking for, Suga-chan?”

Sugawara looked up at him, all of the fight gone out of his eyes. “You want me to yell at you, you want me to fight you and lose. But even if you win this, where will you be? One fight is not going to fix it.”

“Fix what, exactly?” Oikawa was smirking again, but behind it, he felt the tiniest spark of fear.

“Go home, Oikawa. I can’t help you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your help, Refreshing-kun.”

“Yes,” Sugawara said, exhaustion seeping into his face. “You were. And I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I can’t give you what you’re looking for.”

With that, Sugawara turned and plodded back to the gym. He brushed past Baldy-chan, who had done a very poor job of concealing himself in the bushes, and disappeared from view. Oikawa stood, suddenly alone in the broad expanse of asphalt, completely unable to move.

 

***

 

Oikawa watched as Sugawara drained his cup. Slowly, carefully, Suga-chan set it down on the table. “You want answers,” he said, and it didn’t sound like a question but Oikawa nodded anyway.

“I can’t give you answers until you ask me a question, Oikawa.”

Nice receive, Suga-chan. The game was still on, then. “Okay,” Oikawa said, licking his lips as he chose his wording. “You apologized to me. What for? What was it you thought you couldn’t give me?”

Sugawara nodded, staring hard at the table. “Satisfaction, I suppose. You wanted to feel like you were better than me.”

“How shallow!” Oikawa said, pressing a palm to his chest. “I hope that’s not what you truly think of me!”

“Let me finish,” said Sugawara, looking up. “You wanted to feel superior because you were insecure. I saw it. How small I made you feel. I don’t know if it was jealousy, or fear, or what, but you seemed to think that you had to un-nerve me in order to feel like…” Sugawara thought for a moment. Oikawa had gone rigid in his chair. “Like less of a failure,” he said.

Sugawara had taken that point. He’d taken the whole fucking match. Oikawa gripped the sides of his chair, feeling the same way he’d felt in the parking lot, way back. Like his joints were rusted shut. The way he sometimes had nightmares, where something horrible was chasing him and his legs just wouldn’t move.

Suga-chan didn’t sit back, didn’t allow himself to enjoy his massive, sudden victory. He simply held Oikawa’s gaze from across the table and waited, impassive as ever.

Oikawa needed to get out of there. Right fucking now.

“It was nice seeing you, Sugawara,” Oikawa ground out, making no attempt at hiding the emotion in his voice. Sugawara said nothing as Oikawa grabbed his coat and stalked out into the snow, long legs putting as much distance as possible between him and the coffee shop.

 

***

 

It took Oikawa almost an hour to walk home. On any other day, he would have taken the train, but right now he needed to keep moving. His knee would probably hate him for it later, but he’d deal with that problem when it arose. His hands itched with the old, long-suppressed desire to go and hit about fifty jump-serves in quick succession, and he had to squeeze them into fists until it dissipated. Exercise, he needed exercise. It would have to be swimming, then, that was the only thing the doctors would let him do.

Oikawa stormed into his apartment, grabbed his gym bag and his suit, and stormed right back out again. But his fingers trembled as he tried to lock his door, so badly that, after the fourth attempt, he gave up and hurled his keys down the hall, panting slightly as the clattered to the ground.

Iwa-chan. He needed to call Iwa-chan, before he did something stupid. Face burning with shame, Oikawa fetched his keys and headed back inside.

_“Hello? Oikawa?”_

Oikawa ground his palm against his face, searching for words that wouldn’t form. When Iwaizumi said his name again, he managed a small “hey,” in reply.

_"Something’s wrong, isn’t it. Do you need me to come over? I can be there in twenty minutes.”_

God, Iwa-chan was such a good friend. He’d probably punch Oikawa in the arm when arrived, to set his head back on straight, but he always came when Oikawa needed him.

Oikawa sighed, long and low. “Thanks, Hajime,” he said.

The line went silent for a beat. When Iwaizumi spoke, he sounded genuinely worried. _“You’re at home, right? I’ll be there soon. Just stay where you are.”_

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan, really. It’s not as serious as that.”

 _“Okay, fine, whatever, just stay in your apartment until I get there.”_   The line went dead before Oikawa could respond. Iwaizumi always needed to have the last word when he went into protective mode.

Oikawa put on some tea while he waited, for lack of anything better to do. He turned the radio on, then shut it off again, because somehow the distraction was worse. Iwaizumi showed up around the fifteen-minute mark, meaning that he’d probably committed some traffic violations getting there, but Oikawa wasn’t in the mood to scold him for it.

They settled on Oikawa’s couch with his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Neither spoke at first, though Oikawa knew by now that his friend would not leave before they had talked his problems out.

“Refreshing-kun,” Oikawa said at last. “He knew.”

“Knew what?” Iwaizumi murmured.

Oikawa couldn’t say it. The words were right there, on his lips, but they wouldn’t come out. Iwaizumi squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, but his tongue still felt like it weighed about twenty pounds.

“I made tea, it’s going to get cold.” Oikawa tried to stand, but Iwaizumi yanked him back down onto the couch.

“Fuck the tea. You need to talk to me. However long it’s gonna take you.”

Deep breaths. Oikawa inhaled, counted to four, then let it out slowly. That was one strategy he’d picked up from therapy, useful when his anxiety threatened to close off his throat. Deep, slow breaths. Iwaizumi knew what the breathing exercises meant, and stilled against Oikawa, relaxing into him as he counted out his inhales and exhales. They stayed like that for a while, in silence, Iwaizumi’s arm wrapped around Oikawa’s shoulders, Oikawa’s head tucked into Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Perceptive little bastard,” Oikawa said when he’d calmed down somewhat. Iwa-chan turned his head, laughing softly into Oikawa’s hair. “Sounds like someone I know,” Iwaizumi mused, and Oikawa swatted at his leg.

“He knew,” Oikawa repeated, sitting up. “He knew how insecure I was. Back then. How afraid I was of failure, I guess. Of someone being better than me. That’s what he was apologizing for.”

Iwaizumi didn’t need to ask what apology Oikawa meant, he’d heard the story before. He scratched his chin, where his stubble was coming in. Iwa-chan looked good with a bit of facial hair, and Oikawa allowed himself a brief moment of jealousy. His own beard came in patchy and awful, so he could never go more than 24 hours without shaving.

“He apologized for understanding you?” Iwaizumi looked confused.

“No, he apologized for not being able to help. Help me find myself, I guess.”

“Wow,” Iwaizumi breathed, leaning back into the couch cushions. “That’s oddly noble of him.”

Oikawa laced his fingers together. “Noble? I guess. I don’t find it particularly odd, though.”

“No? I thought he hated your guts. Why would he want to help you?”

“You didn’t see him like I did. He was a pillar of that team, even from the second string. His generosity, toward those kids...” Oikawa toyed with the couch cushion. “It was irritating as fuck.”

“Hm.” Iwaizumi sat forward. “Sounds to me like he set the bar pretty high.”

“How do you mean?” Oikawa wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this, but Iwa-chan wouldn’t let that stop him anyway.

“I mean, you were obviously the better setter, and Sugawara probably understood that. But you also wanted to be the better person, better than him, and you just couldn’t. Because Sugawara was this angelic being descended straight from the heavens to lead his team to victory, with a ridiculous penchant for kindness that was completely unattainable to us puny humans over here.”

Oikawa’s face contorted. He hid his grimace in Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Iwaizumi pressed. Oikawa nodded, very small. “But that never made you any less of a good person, or a good captain. Sure, Sugawara was a saint, but he was one person out of everyone in Miyagi. In the grand scheme of things, you were among the best, I promise. I saw the way you supported the team, through everything. You may not believe me, but I always thought you could have given him a run for his money.”

When he didn’t get a response, Iwaizumi shifted under Oikawa’s head. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Shoot,” Oikawa said, the word muffled by Iwaizumi’s skin.

“Back in high school, I was jealous of him too.”

Oikawa looked up. “You were jealous? Of Refreshing-kun?”

“Of course. I wanted to be as supportive as Sugawara could be, just as much as you did. Who wouldn’t? He made his own team so much stronger, it was a powerful weapon to wield on the court. And off it too, god, if I could have been half the friend Sugawara was to Sawamura-kun…” Iwa-chan trailed off, looking Oikawa in the eye. “I wish I could have given that kind of support to you, when you needed it.”

This was too much. “Fuck, Iwa-chan, you’re gonna make me cry!” Oikawa rolled on top of his best friend, enveloping him in a bear hug.

“You always cry, idiot,” Iwaizumi replied, laughing and squeezing back.

“Mean! Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sighed into the couch cushions. “What did I do to deserve you?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The ball was in his court" could totally be a volleyball metaphor too shut up


	3. Return of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands*

Suga really thought it was over that time. Oikawa had stormed out so suddenly, so emphatically, Suga couldn’t picture him picking up the pieces of his shattered pride to come back for more. At least Oikawa had his answers now, and Suga had just a little bit more closure. That would definitely be the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

 

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Refreshing-kun, I’m sorry I ran out on you the other day_

_> You’re way too smart to be a nurse, you know_

_> Care to talk again some time?_

 

Suga just stared at his phone, completely baffled. The silence of his apartment was suddenly ringing loud in his ears. What was he supposed to do with that?

Suga did what he always did when he really didn’t know how to proceed. He called Daichi.

_“Hello?”_

“Daichi? It’s me. I need a second opinion on this. Oikawa sent me a message. Actually, messages, plural.”

_“Wait, really? After all that?”_

“Yes, after all that. He said he’s sorry for ditching me and he wants to talk again.”

_“Well shit, that’s unexpected. What are you going to do?”_

Suga sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I honestly have no idea.”

 

***

 

“Well?” Satoko asked around a mouthful of egg-salad sandwich. This hospital was really lacking in affordable cafeteria food, but they made do.

Suga was almost afraid to ask. “Well what?”

“I think you should meet up with him again. You can’t possibly end this now, before you know how steamy the hate-sex will be.”

Suga crumpled his paper napkin in one fist. “Sato, for the last time, I’m not having hate-sex with anyone. However steamy you think it might be.”

Satoko pouted. “Fine, don’t take my advice. But, if we’re being perfectly honest here, I do think you need to get laid. Seriously, how long has it been?”

Suga gave her an incredulous look. “As if I’d ever tell you that.”

“If you won’t admit it, Suga-kun, it’s been too long. I have my answer right there.” 

“Is my love life the only thing you ever think about anymore?” Suga teased.

Satoko pretended to be affronted. “Certainly not! I think about work, too, I just didn’t think you’d want to talk about odd-coloured discharge over lunch.”

Suga swallowed hard. “Point taken.”

Satoko patted his hand. “Okay, serious advice time. You want to know what I really think?”

Suga nodded.

“You got those texts, what, two days ago? I think that you wouldn’t have been stewing over this for days if you weren’t going to go. I think you’re looking for someone to talk you out of going because you’re nervous, but not nervous enough to turn him down. But no one has, because it’s not actually a bad idea.”

Suga stared at his phone, lying dormant on the marbled plastic tabletop. “It _feels_ like a bad idea.”

“That’s because you’re opening a really old can of worms here. Sure, it might have expired long ago, and you might just find a horrific black mess inside, but it might also be worth the risk, you know?”

Suga set down his sandwich. He was suddenly very not hungry. “You have a talent for vivid imagery, Sato-kun.”

“Thank you, I try. Now, what are you going to say?” Satoko grabbed his phone and entered his password. No matter how often Suga changed it, Satoko always managed to break in.

Suga held out a hand, and Satoko passed over the phone. “I’ll tell him when my next day off is. That’s it. And no stealing my phone and flirting with him for me. Need I remind you how terribly that went, last time?”

Satoko put on an innocent smile, leaning across the table to read Suga’s message.

 

_To: Oikawa Tooru_

_> I’m off this Saturday if you want to meet_

 

“There, happy?” Suga handed the phone back to Satoko, who was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Very happy!” she replied. “Oh look, he wrote you back! He’s fast, he must really like you.”

“Cut it out!” Suga laughed in spite of himself. “It’s not like this is a date, anyway.”

The corners of Satoko’s mouth twitched. “You got coffee with a gorgeous guy who showed up at your work to ask you out. If that’s not a date, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Please, Sato-kun, _I_ invited _him_ to coffee. And it was not a date. Unless a sworn-enemy date is a thing.”

“Would you just read your damn messages?” Satoko whined, pushing the phone into Suga’s hands.

 

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Great! Looking forward to it! _ _(^_ _▽_ _^)_

 

“Well, that makes one of us,” Suga said drily. He put down the phone.

“Oh come on, admit it, you want to talk to him again.”

“I guess.” Suga chewed his lip. “But not the guy with the emojis and the fan club and all that. Only if he’s gonna be, you know, real with me? I don’t know. I think I saw a bit of that at the coffee shop, but he ran away before I could really say anything.”

 

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Where can I meet you?_

 

Suga tapped out a reply, naming a small park by his apartment. Outside, in the open air, where Suga had room to think. He remembered the coffee shop, to the bare ten seconds of actually productive conversation, when Oikawa’s façade slipped. When Oikawa called him Sugawara. He’d never done that before. Something was getting through to him, something Suga had said, and he wanted to press further. But it wasn’t to gain the upper hand, he didn’t want to win anymore. He’d never wanted to win against Oikawa in the first place.

What he’d said, back in the parking lot, it had been true. He really was sorry he couldn’t help Oikawa figure himself out. But maybe it wasn’t too late for that, maybe there was still something he could do.

It was nosy, and intrusive, meddling in the life of someone he’d barely ever known, not now, not back then. Possibly bad form, playing amateur therapist to the man he remembered as an unstable, young boy. He’d probably changed in ways Suga could never predict, an enormous gulf of time separating high-school Oikawa and today-Oikawa. And yet, here Suga was, agreeing to meet again. Because Oikawa wanted to talk, and Suga was a sucker for conversation.

He hoped to God he wasn’t getting the wrong impression, that Oikawa wasn’t coming back to regain the ground he’d lost. Suga felt like the game had changed, but that wasn’t necessarily true on Oikawa’s end. Then again, he’d never know unless he tried.

 

***

 

Suga dressed warm, piling on two sweaters and his fluffiest scarf before he zipped up his coat and stepped out into the frigid air.

Oikawa was waiting for him, sprawled out on a park bench, cigarette dangling from one hand in an expensive-looking leather glove. Suga sat down next to him, pulling a face at the acrid smell.

“I didn’t think you would smoke. It’s bad for your lung capacity.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Oikawa said absently, taking another drag. “Relax, I don’t do it every day.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter anymore?”

Oikawa looked down at his legs with a scowl. “I mean, I can’t play volleyball anyway, so what’s the point?”

“What?” Suga was honestly taken aback.

Oikawa patted his knee. “This thing blew in second year of college. Which means no more high-impact sports, unless I want to get it replaced before I’m thirty.”

Suga had to take a moment, to let that sink in. Oikawa let him, attempting to blow smoke rings into the still air.

“I’m so sorry,” Suga said. And he really was. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for Oikawa Tooru, the Grand King of the Court, to give up volleyball. In college too, after he must have accepted a sports scholarship. Volleyball, for years, had been Oikawa’s whole life. His raison d’etre. Having all that work go to waste…

“Don’t be. I picked myself back up again. Set new goals, eventually. Life went on.” Oikawa shifted in his seat. “If there’s one thing volleyball taught me, it was how to persevere in the face of obstacles. That particular skill, I could still use, knee or no knee.”

Suga nodded, sobered.

“What about you, Refreshing-kun? Do you still play?”

“Sometimes.” Suga scratched his ear, where the scarf made it itch. “Daichi and Kuroo are part of a neighbourhood league. I set for them when their regular setter can’t make it.”

Oikawa smiled. “Daichi and Kuroo, huh. Haven’t heard those names in a while. You’re still in touch with them?”

“Never lost touch,” Suga replied, “Daichi’s been my best friend for a decade. They’re engaged, him and Kuroo.”

“No shit! Those two? Good for them!” Oikawa seemed genuinely pleased. “You know, if you’d ask me a month ago to guess who Daichi would have married, I’d have automatically said it would be you, Suga-chan.”

Suga let out a helpless laugh. “Me? And Daichi? Are you serious?”

“What! Of course, you two were always together in high school. I’d go as far as to say you were inseparable. You’re telling me you never even thought about it? Not even a fling?”

Suga raised his eyebrows. “That would be like you and Iwaizumi sleeping together.”

Oikawa didn’t even blink. “Your point?”

“Wait. Have you and–” Suga stopped when he saw the grin on Oikawa’s face. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t see why that’s so surprising. Iwa-chan and I have been friends pretty much forever, it was bound to happen at some point.” Oikawa played with his lighter, clearly amused by the direction this conversation had taken.

“That’s not how my friendships work,” said Suga. “No, Daichi and I, we never… God, I can’t even say it without blushing.”

 “Did you ever think about it?” Oikawa pressed. He laughed when he saw the look on Suga’s face. “You did, didn’t you? Don’t be shy, Suga-chan, I promise I won’t tell him.”

“Only in first year of high school, before I really knew him that well. It was just a crush, it was over in two months. Would you stop looking at me like that?”

“But you’re still blushing! It’s adorable! Plus, I don't blame you, he had thighs like a Greek god.”

“Oikawa, I will kick you in the knee. The fucked-up one.”

Oikawa’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t.”

“No, you’re right, I wouldn’t. But threats never sound as menacing when you call my bluff, so thanks for that.” Suga looked up. “Do you want to walk around a bit? You must be freezing.”

They took a lap around the park, Suga chatting about old high-school friends while Oikawa finished his cigarette. After that, they stopped in for hot-chocolate at a food court nearby. This time, sipping a hot drink across from Oikawa, Suga didn’t feel quite so tense. Their last talk had felt like a rubber band, stretched to the breaking point, between them. It had snapped when Oikawa left, and now that tension was gone. Oikawa didn’t offer to explain, and Suga didn’t press him, content to enjoy Oikawa’s company while it lasted.  

Suga learned all about Oikawa’s sister’s family, and the nephew who had just taken over as starting setter for the Aoba Johsai volleyball team. Oikawa was positively beaming as he talked on and on about Takeru. He’d been to all his nephew’s official matches so far, and pulled up pictures of them on his phone for Suga to see. In the very last one, Takeru and Oikawa stood side by side in front of the net, wearing identical megawatt smiles, Oikawa flashing a peace sign at the camera over his nephew’s shoulder. “Iwa-chan took that one,” Oikawa explained, his eyes going soft at the recollection.

It did fluttery things to Suga’s heart, and he cursed his own traitorous internal organs.

After that, Oikawa’s knee started to protest (“It doesn’t like the cold, especially if I’m walking around a lot,” he had explained) and Suga was invited back to Oikawa’s apartment.

Oikawa sensed his hesitation. “I’m not trying to proposition you, relax. I figured you might want to keep talking, and my apartment is a warm and comfortable place for conversation. That’s all, I promise.”

In the end, Suga acquiesced, and that’s how he ended up on Oikawa Tooru’s couch with a glass of wine, socked feet tucked under him as Oikawa took him on a visual tour of the living room.

“This is my sister’s artwork,” Oikawa explained, gesturing to one wall of paintings. They were all of different people, the figures indistinct, edges blurring into the background. The focus of all the pieces was their colour, bright oranges, purples, and blues cascading over darker backgrounds.

“They’re really good,” Suga said, honestly.

Oikawa hummed, satisfied, and pointed to the painting in the very middle. “This one is me.”

Suga squinted at the form. It was a figure seen from behind, looking down and to the side. The face was obscured, but the hair looked about right, as did the breadth of the shoulders. The lighting was all pinks and blues, blended in with a cheeky insertion of Aoba Johsai teal.

Suga smiled. “Beautiful,” he said.

“Why thank you, Refreshing-kun,” Oikawa teased.

Suga groaned. “The painting. I meant the painting.”

Oikawa laughed and picked up his own glass, admiring his sister’s work. Emboldened by the wine, Suga gathered his courage to ask the question that had been bugging him for the past few days.

“I really didn’t expect you to speak to me ever again,” said Suga, watching for Oikawa’s reaction. It wasn’t defensive, as Suga would have predicted. Instead, his mouth quirked up in a rueful smile, and he sat down beside Suga on the couch.

“I really didn’t expect to _want_ to,” Oikawa admitted. “And yet, here we are.”

“I think it’s going rather well this time, compared to last.” Suga grinned against the rim of his glass.

Oikawa leaned into the couch cushions. “I think you’re right.”

“Why did you run out on me? What happened?”

Oikawa looked at him, face unreadable. Suga had the sudden urge to backtrack, to say that it was okay, Oikawa didn’t need to tell him if it was too personal. But he also genuinely wanted to know, and if Suga said anything now, he might never get an answer.

“I’m surprised you have to ask,” said Oikawa. “You seem to be able to read me pretty well already. Some of the things that come out of your mouth, Suga-chan, make me think you know me better than I know myself.”

Suga considered this for a moment. “Were you upset with me?”

“At first.” Oikawa stared at the ceiling. “You hit a nerve, and I reacted badly. But I don’t really think it’s fair to blame you for that. And afterwards, I have a pretty great conversation with Iwa-chan, thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to press you.”

Oikawa waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “Don’t be, really. Sometimes I need a push like that. I occasionally get… jumbled up in my own thoughts, I suppose. And when that all comes crashing down, I feel like shit for a while, but in the end it makes more room for me to think clearly.”

“Never in a million years would I have expected you to speak to me openly about your anxieties, Oikawa.”

“I know. Iwa-chan would be shocked and appalled. He’s been trying to get me to open up to him for decades. Decades, Suga-chan.”

Suga laughed, and finished the last of his wine. Oikawa stood to refill his glass. They’d managed to consume half the bottle already.

Suga couldn’t deny that he was having fun, but he was still kind of surprised that it was with Oikawa Tooru. Instead of riling him up, the guy was trying to make him laugh, and Suga couldn’t help but wonder why. Where had this version of Oikawa been hiding, all these years? This candid, carefree Oikawa who loved his nephew to pieces, who proudly displayed his sister’s artwork to all of his house-guests, who gave compliments that weren’t veiled insults and genuinely wanted to know what it was like to work as a nurse?

“What about you, Suga-chan?” Oikawa twirled the stem of his glass in one hand. “Why did you agree to see me again?”

Suga shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair. I gave you a real answer, you have to return the favour!”

Suga giggled at Oikawa’s petulant expression. “Fine, you’re right, it’s only fair. My answer would have to be… curiosity. That, and my overbearing co-worker pushed me into it.”

Oikawa grinned. “In that case, you’ll have to give my thanks to your co-worker.”  

“Oh, god no, she can never learn of this. Her ego would outsize the hospital.” Oikawa threw back his head and laughed at that. Suga felt heat rise in his cheeks, and the alcohol was only partially to blame. Oikawa had a nice laugh, when it didn’t have ulterior motives behind it.

Oikawa set his glass down on the coffee table and rested his head in his arms over the back of the couch. He was loose-limbed and smiley from the wine, and looking at Suga with a gleam in his eye.

“Suga-chan,” he purred, “has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?”

Suga grinned. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Mostly from Bokuto, when he gets wasted. Akaashi’s apparently much prettier, though.”

“Lies! You’re definitely the prettiest.” Oikawa scooted in a bit closer, plucking Suga’s wine glass from his fingers and delicately setting it on the table next to his own. “I like your mole,” he said, brushing the skin below Suga’s left eye with his thumb. Oikawa’s touch was warm, very warm.

“Thanks, I like it too.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Suga looked at him, stunned into silence. He was even more taken aback by his own response, which flew out of his mouth before he really got a chance to evaluate the situation.

“Sure,” he said, and the Grand King of the Court, Oikawa Tooru’s lips were on his own.

Hot damn, he was a good kisser. Suga felt himself respond, opening up to let Oikawa’s tongue explore his mouth, slowly and sensually. Oikawa sucked on his lip, drawing him closer, and Suga felt strong hands on his waist inching the hem of his shirt just a little bit higher. After a few slow seconds, Oikawa drew away, lips red and swollen, to gauge Suga’s reaction.

Neither of them moved for a second. Oikawa looked like he was exercising an awful lot of patience, waiting for Suga to tell him how to proceed. Apparently Oikawa Tooru still had a lot of surprises left in him, Suga mused, and he laced his fingers behind Oikawa’s neck to draw him back in for more. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa ilysm babe but you have to stop that filthy habit. Suga, be a dear and hide his cigarettes for me.
> 
> Also, don't be fooled by the make-outs, it's not over yet. Not by a long shot. I've got plans for at least four more chapters, and ~~I'm still not even close to knowing how this is going to end.~~ Until my next update, happy new year my lovelies!
> 
> Update: we have an ending, folks! I put a reference to it in the first set of notes, but if you didn't see it, the whole work will now be 10 chapters + epilogue.


	4. Everything Hits at Once

Sugawara’s phone rang.

“Ignore it,” Oikawa murmured against his lips. After a moment’s hesitation, Sugawara complied, sinking back into the kiss as his ringtone died out in the background. Oikawa needed his hands to be everywhere at once, tugging at Sugawara’s shirt and tangled in his hair and tracing the smooth lines of his hipbones and…

It rang again.

Sugawara broke away. “Sorry, this could be urgent.” He stood, pulling out of Oikawa’s arms to get his phone from his coat pocket. Oikawa drew his knees up to his chest on the couch, more disappointed by the sudden loss of contact than he would willingly admit. If this was a telemarketer interrupting his make-out session, he was going to murder someone.

“Hello?” Sugawara frowned instantly. “Daichi, slow down. Okay? What happened?”

Shit.

Sugawara listened for a minute, brow creasing in concern. Oikawa leaned on the back of the couch and watched him. This did not bode well for their date. Was it even a date? When had he started thinking of it that way?

“It’s going to be okay,” Sugawara said, enunciating every word. “It sounds like he’s having a seizure. He’s going to be fine. Just roll him on his side so he doesn’t choke, and protect his head. Okay? That’s all you have to do. Where are you? I’m coming over there right now, and I’ll call you an ambulance. Okay, Daichi? It’s going to be fine. I’ll be right there.”

Sugawara hung up, dashing for his shoes by the front door. “Oikawa, I have to go, Kuroo’s seizing. I’m sorry, call me later okay?”

As much as Oikawa hated it, this was not the time to argue. There was no point in being jealous of a medical emergency. He stood, unfolding his long limbs from the couch, and got the door while Sugawara shoved his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “Yeah, call you later,” Oikawa said as Sugawara rushed out the door, already dialling for an ambulance. The door swung back of its own accord, clicking shut with a soft finality. Oikawa hugged his arms to his chest, processing the suddenness of it all. One minute he was getting ready to invite Sugawara into his bedroom, the next Sugawara was running away as fast as his legs could carry him. Though it wasn’t anything Oikawa did, he reminded himself. Sugawara wasn’t running away from _him_. He’d get another chance, even if he had to make an opportunity himself.

Oikawa flopped down on the couch and eyed the half-empty bottle of wine. Well, no point in letting that go to waste.

 

***

 

The ambulance arrived before Suga did. Red and blue lights blinked at him from outside Daichi’s building. Suga accelerated from a fast walk into a run as a stretcher appeared at the front door.

Kuroo was awake. He was talking to Daichi, who walked beside him as the paramedics rolled his stretcher out to the vehicle. Suga caught up just as Daichi let go of Kuroo’s hand, allowing the EMTs to hoist him into the ambulance.

“I’m sorry, Daichi I’m sorry,” Kuroo called out weakly before the doors swung shut. Suga rested a hand on Daichi’s shoulder, and he whipped around. Oh god, he was a mess. His face was wet and blotchy, eyes red and lashes clinging together. He didn’t speak, he just hiccupped and practically fell into Suga’s arms, his whole body shaking. Suga struggled to stay upright under Daichi’s weight, squeezing the life out of him as he cried. Suga could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Daichi cry, and in all that time, he’d never been as utterly wrecked as he was right now.

“It’s over, Daichi, he’s fine. It’s over. It’s okay, it’s all over.” Suga murmured reassurances into the crook of Daichi’s neck, which seemed to help a bit. Suga felt horrible. He should have answered his phone the first time Daichi called, he shouldn’t have gone out at all that night, just stayed in and kept watch over his friends. He should have been there when Daichi needed him.

Bit by bit, the trembling slowed. Suga called to one of the EMTs over Daichi’s shoulder to get the name of the hospital Kuroo was headed for. His own place of work, as it turned out, and for that, Suga was grateful.

Daichi finally looked up as the ambulance sped away, following the receding lights with his eyes. “No sirens?” he asked, sniffling.

“No, they only use sirens when it’s urgent to get the patient to a hospital. Kuroo’s got all the time in the world. He’s in good hands.”

Daichi met his gaze, swiping at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Thank you, Suga. Thank you so much. I don’t-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Suga said, pulling him back in for another hug. “No need to thank me, I was only doing what a best friend should do. Now, come on, let’s get your car keys, I’ll drive you to the hospital.” Suga gently led Daichi inside, repeating his assurances until he sensed Daichi starting to believe them.

 

***

 

Satoko was on shift when Suga led Daichi by the hand into the ER. “Suga-kun, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off work.”

“Apparently I can’t avoid this place,” Suga said wryly, “even when I want to. I’m here for Kuroo Tetsurou, he would have been admitted in the last fifteen minutes or so.” Suga squeezed Daichi’s hand, and he felt a squeeze back.

Satoko smiled sympathetically at Daichi. She knew well enough not to ask for an introduction at the moment, not when Daichi still looked like he’d been bawling his eyes out for the past hour. “He’s in bed twelve,” Satoko said, and Suga thanked her as he turned down the hall with Daichi in tow.

They found Kuroo easily. He looked so utterly spent, dozing against a mound of hospital pillows, hair plastered to his forehead and sticking out, not in the usual controlled wildness of Kuroo’s patented bedhead, but in true, unattractive chaos. Daichi whimpered and jogged the last few feet to Kuroo’s bedside. Kuroo hadn’t been sleeping, after all; he opened his eyes as soon as he heard them approach. Daichi slid both of his hands around one of Kuroo’s, his shoulders tense in a way that told Suga he was trying very hard not to cry again. Suga stepped in close to Kuroo’s bed and drew the curtain around them.

“Daichi,” Kuroo breathed. “I’m fine, really, I am. It was just a seizure, that’s all.”

Daichi’s composure was falling apart in front of Suga’s eyes. “Can I hug him?” he asked, directing the question at Suga. He looked so lost, so small.

“Of course you can.” Suga’s throat caught. He was absolutely not going to start crying too, for God’s sake, someone had to hold it together.

Kuroo’s arms snaked around Daichi’s back, pulling him down onto the bed. Suga left them alone for a minute, hunting around for a chair to pull up at Kuroo’s bedside. Had it really been less than an hour since he left Oikawa’s place? It felt like all night.

Shit. Oikawa. Suga had bolted out of there pretty quickly, he owed Oikawa an update at the very least.

 

_To: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Sorry I had to dash. Kuroo’s fine, we’re in the ER now. _

It didn’t take long for Suga to get a response.

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Don’t sweat it, he’s your friend. How’s Daichi?_

Suga stared at his phone for about ten seconds, processing the question tacked onto that last text. How’s Daichi? Oikawa Tooru actually asked after another person’s well-being?

 

_To: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Thanks for asking, he was pretty freaked out when I got there but he’ll be alright. He’s talking to Kuroo now._

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> I feel for him, Iwa-chan’s been there with me. _

 

Right. The knee injury. Suga had almost forgotten. Of course Iwaizumi was there when Oikawa’s knee blew, and for the fallout afterward. Suga had seen the worried look in Iwaizumi’s eyes when he brought Oikawa in for a simple case of dehydration. He could only imagine the anguish Iwaizumi must have been in when Oikawa was told he’d never play volleyball again.

 

_To: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Iwaizumi’s a good friend._

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> He really is. And you are too, Suga, for what you did tonight._

What he did tonight was ignore his phone while Kuroo was seizing and Daichi was panicking. He really didn’t feel like much of a friend at the moment.

_To: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Thanks, but all I did was come over with an ambulance in tow. I didn’t really do anything special._

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> If you think you didn’t do anything special, you have no idea how much it meant to Kuroo and Daichi to have you there. _

_> Trust me on this one._

 

Suga sighed and stowed his phone in his pocket. Oikawa was probably right about that, but he still felt guilty. There was nothing he could do now, though, except stay with his friends while the doctors sorted Kuroo out, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Suga dragged a chair behind the curtain around Kuroo’s bed. Daichi was fully in the hospital bed now, wrapped around Kuroo’s side on top of the thin blanket. He looked calmer. Kuroo was pressing kisses into the top of his head and stroking Daichi’s arm with his thumb.

Suga sat down, facing the bed. “Do you know what set it off? Your seizure?”

Kuroo let his head fall back on the pillows. “No, not really. I was listening to music, but not particularly loud. No flashing lights or anything. What else could have caused it?”

“Music can trigger epilepsy, that could have been it. Have you ever had a seizure before?”

“Yeah, I was on clonazepam for them when I was little.”

Daichi raised his head. “Wait, you’ve had seizures before? Why didn’t I know about this?”

“You didn’t ask?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, and a nervous one at that.

“Tetsu! What the fuck, you didn’t tell me you were epileptic!”

“Well, yeah, I haven’t had one since I was five. It didn’t seem that relevant.”

Daichi had gone from needy to livid in about three seconds flat. “It didn’t seem _relevant?_ That you had a fucking medical condition that could cause dangerous fucking seizures didn’t seem _relevant_ to you?”

“I thought they were gone, Daichi, God! Of course I would have told you if I ever expected this to happen!”

“Guys!” Suga barked, putting on his old vice-captain’s voice. Both of them turned to Suga, cowed. He switched to a harsh whisper. “I am not going to let you argue this here. Not when there are other patients trying to get some rest in the next bed over. Daichi, no more yelling or I’ll drag you outside by your ears. And Kuroo, I swear to god, if I have to get the tranquilizers, I know where they’re kept.”

That shut them up. Then, after about ten seconds of terrified silence, Daichi started laughing uncontrollably. Suga tried to retain his stern expression, but it cracked into a smile despite his best efforts. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Daichi said, tearing up again. He buried his head in Kuroo’s neck, still giggling. “It’s just, you with tranquilizers. It’s an interesting image. You’re the Indiana Jones of this hospital, Sugawara Koushi.”

Suga crossed his arms with a satisfied grin. “And don’t you forget it.”

 

“Kuroo?” a small voice called from behind the curtain. Suga drew it back in surprise, to admit a nervous-looking Kenma. He was twisting the sleeves of an oversized hoodie in his hands, scanning Kuroo’s face as if to check for hints of damage.

“Kenma, hey,” Kuroo said, face softening at the sight of his old friend. Suga stood up and gestured to his chair, allowing Kenma to take a seat beside Kuroo’s bed.

“Did you know he was epileptic?” Daichi muttered, peeking out from between Kuroo’s collarbone and his own shoulder. Kenma nodded, looking anywhere but Daichi’s eyes.

“I fucking hate you, Kuroo,” Daichi said, but there was no anger left in his voice. Daichi just sounded tired, which made a lot of sense, given how worked up he’d been earlier. 

“How did you know we were here?” Suga asked, gently.

“He called me,” Kenma replied, glancing up at Kuroo.

“They let me use my phone, in the ambulance. I just…” Kuroo went quiet, very quiet. “I needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t freak out.” He let out a ragged sigh. “I’m sorry, Daichi, you were– I felt awful, for putting you through that.”

“It’s okay,” Daichi mumbled.

Kenma reached over and patted Kuroo on the leg, before producing a PSP from somewhere on his person and leaning back in the chair to flick it on. Kuroo chuckled. “That’s one thing I love about you, Kenma. Your consistency.”

Kenma kicked the leg of the bed in retaliation, sending a jolt through both Kuroo and Daichi. Suga covered his mouth to stifle a laugh as Kuroo shot Kenma an irritated glance.

The four of them spent another two and a half hours at the hospital. In that time, Kuroo got a prescription for new epilepsy medication and an appointment in six weeks to check up on its effectiveness, Daichi got a full run-down of every health problem Kuroo had ever had (including a family history going back three generations), Kenma got a burn on his tongue from the hospital’s temperamental hot-chocolate machine, and Suga got four more texts from Oikawa.

 

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Just to be clear, despite everything, I had a good time tonight. Want to go out again?_

_> Fingers crossed that no one seizes this time_

_> I’m sorry that was probably way too soon. I promise I’m better at flirting than this _

_> Goodnight, hope Kuroo feels better_

Suga showed these to Satoko. “Not very tactful, is he,” she said, giggling.

Suga smirked. “He wasn't exactly sober when I left. But I'll let it slide. Anyway, tactlessness is a good quality to have in a sworn enemy, it makes it way easier to embarrass them. You don’t have to do anything, really, they embarrass themselves for you.”

“Sounds like he likes you, though.” Satoko played with her hair, scrolling through Suga’s previous texts to Oikawa. “I guess you didn’t get a chance to do anything particularly… refreshing, tonight?”

“I hate you so much,” said Suga. Satoko grinned wickedly, waiting for him to continue. “No, we hadn’t gotten past the kissing before Daichi called me.”

“But you got to kissing, that’s a damn good start!” Satoko clapped her hands, looking particularly gleeful, even for her. “That’s like, what, first base?”

“Sato-kun, I’m twenty-five. That’s far too old to be measuring relationships by bases.”

Satoko winked. “Tell me that when you’ve made it to home plate, slugger.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate tags for this chapter:  
> Satoko no, Satoko stop that, I'm revoking your pun privileges


	5. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, the rating change has arrived. Enjoy ;)

Suga woke up on Daichi’s couch, just shy of seven in the morning. He sat up and stretched, rolling his shoulders and blinking in the watery sunlight. Soft snoring emanated from the bedroom. Both Daichi and Kuroo were probably still exhausted from last night, they could use an extra few hours’ rest.

Suga put a pot of coffee on and sat down in the kitchen, scrolling through the news on his phone. Some politicians somewhere were having PR problems, atrocities continued to plague the third world, nothing particularly new. Suga flipped back to his messaging app, to the text conversation with Oikawa, and re-read the last few messages.

_Despite everything, I had a good time tonight._

The words twisted something deep in Suga’s stomach. So had he. But in the cold, gray light of morning, it seemed like a terrible idea to continue. Oikawa was still Oikawa, still the same person who had taken pleasure in Suga’s defeat. Last night couldn’t erase the fact that Oikawa had dug deep into Suga’s insecurities and been amused by what he found.

Clearly, there was more to Oikawa than the manipulations, the insensitivity, the competitive drive that crushed everything in its wake. Last night had shown Suga a gentle, even compassionate side of Oikawa that he had previously never seen. But he couldn’t trust that the manipulations were gone after one decent conversation and a couple of semi-drunken kisses.

He should probably end this before someone got hurt. Most likely, himself.

Suga pushed his phone around on the tabletop, his brow furrowed. He needed a second opinion. Who would be up at this hour? Akaashi might be, he kept a pretty strange schedule and was often out of bed long before the sun came up. Worth a try, Suga thought to himself as he dialled.

 

_“Hello?”_

“Hey Akaashi, it’s Suga. Do you have a minute to talk?”

_“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”_

When Daichi had started dating Kuroo, he and his friends had come as a package deal. Where Kuroo went, Bokuto followed, and where Bokuto went, Akaashi was never far behind. It had taken a while, but eventually Suga and Akaashi warmed up to each other enough to kindle their own friendship, independent of the rest of their ragtag group. Akaashi was by far the most level-headed person Suga had ever met. He and Bokuto could not be more different in their outlook on the world, and yet they complemented each other perfectly; Akaashi kept Bokuto’s expectations realistic, and skillfully handled the aftermath when he was disappointed, while Bokuto provided an endless source of feverish optimism to keep Akaashi from getting too morose.

In any case, out of all of Suga’s friends, Akaashi gave the best advice no matter what the problem.

“At Fukurodani, did you ever play a game against Aoba Johsai High School?”

_“Aoba Johsai? No, I don’t think so. Why?”_

“I’m guessing you’ve never met Oikawa Tooru, then.”

_“I’ve heard of him.”_

“You have? What did you hear?”

_“Very pretty, very obnoxious. Goura-san from Ubugawa admired his jump serve. Are you going somewhere with this, Suga?”_

“Yes, sorry. Yes, I am going somewhere with this.”

Akaashi waited.

“I, uh, I’ve gotten in touch with him again, and I really don’t know where it’s leading.” Suga sketched out for Akaashi the most important points of his and Oikawa’s past and present interactions, filling in more detail around their meeting at the coffee shop. Akaashi listened, patient as ever, asking the occasional question to keep Suga’s story on track. At one point, Suga heard a telltale crash in the background, meaning that Bokuto had most likely gotten out of bed. Akaashi seemed to ignore it, no longer surprised when Bokuto toppled the furniture. After all, he had stocked his cupboards with plastic plates and cups for a reason.

 _“Well,”_ said Akaashi when Suga finished, _“I can give you my initial thoughts. First off, I think you’re right to be wary of this guy, he hasn’t exactly been nice to you for the majority of your interactions. It might be smart to end this here. That said, and I know this first hand, you really cannot predict what a relationship is going to be like before you’re in it. Dating anyone is inherently risky. Letting someone else into yourself can make you a stronger person, or it can wreck you from the inside, and it’s sort of impossible to know which will happen. Could even be both. The question becomes, is it a risk you want to take?”_

“Yeah. I don’t know. Is it a risk I want to take?”

_“From the sounds of it, no. But don’t let me tell you what’s best for you, Suga. That’s your decision to make.”_

“Ugh, no, it’s too hard,” Suga groaned, “why can’t you decide for me?”

Akaashi laughed at that. _“God, you sound exactly like Koutarou. No, you need to decide for yourself.”_

“Why must you be so infuriatingly logical?”

_“Isn’t that why you called me? I can put Koutarou on the phone if you need some non-specific encouragement.”_

“Thanks, I might take you up on that later. It’s been a long couple of days.” Suga wouldn’t mention the seizures just yet, that was Kuroo’s story to tell in his own time. Plus, Bokuto would want to talk to Kuroo, and Suga was not about to wake him up now. After last night, he really needed his rest. 

_“We’ll be here if you need moral support, whatever you decide. Call me later if you need to talk more, okay?”_

“Okay,” said Suga. When the line went dead, he stared at the phone in his hands, deep in thought.

It wouldn’t work. It couldn’t work. Not unless Oikawa was willing to give up the back-handed compliments, the wicked competitive streak, the ever-present, overarching need to prove himself superior to everyone around him. Suga would not subject himself to a relationship in which he was always second-best. That was not love. That was feeding someone else’s narcissism at his own expense.

He sighed heavily and flipped through his contacts to find Oikawa’s number. Suga had to do this now, before his resolve weakened. The longer he left it unfinished, the harder it would become.

Four rings later, Suga got Oikawa’s voicemail.

A better person might have waited, called back later to at least give Oikawa the chance to respond. Unfortunately, that morning, Suga was not a better person.

“Hi. It’s, uh, it’s Sugawara. Listen, Oikawa, I think… I mean, I’m glad we got to catch up and everything, but… anyway I think it might be best if we just left things where they are. I don’t think I can… do this again. Um. I’m glad you’re doing well and I wish you all the best, I really do. Okay, bye.”

Suga hung up and rested his head on the table. He let out a long, low moan of embarrassment. At least it was done now, and he was free to focus on other things and let the chips fall where they may. His own problems out of the way, Suga got up from his seat to make breakfast for his friends.

 

***

 

“Suga-kun! Your phone’s ringing!”

Suga stopped at the nurses’ desk, arms full of charts. Satoko held out Suga’s buzzing cell phone, blatantly ignoring the fact that the nurses were not supposed to be taking personal calls during shifts.

Suga grimaced. “Is it Oikawa?” He’d already called twice that day. Suga hadn’t picked up. He felt horrible about it, but what more could he say to him?

Satoko frowned. “Yeah, it is. What’s that face?”

There was no such thing as a secret, when it came to Satoko. Hiding personal information was futile. She was careful not to gossip when it was important, for which Suga was immensely grateful, but Sato-kun was an unimaginably deep reserve of other people’s personal drama.

“I’m not seeing him again. I broke it off.”

“What? Why?” Satoko looked genuinely put out by Suga’s admission.

Suga leaned one hip against the desk and shifted the stack in his hands. “Because kissing him in the first place was impulsive, and in retrospect, a bad idea.”

“You seemed to be into him last night, what changed?”

“Well, for one thing, I sobered up. Literally. But nothing really changed, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing that happened, and it shouldn’t happen again. For my own peace of mind.”

“You still haven’t told me why you ended it,” Satoko grumbled.

Suga ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “I’ll tell you as soon as I’ve sorted it out for myself. I promise.”

 

***

 

Oikawa called a total of four times on the first day, and twice on the second. Suga answered none of them, and Oikawa didn’t text. It seemed to be tapering off, that was a good sign. Suga didn’t want to talk to Oikawa, not now. As rational as his decision had felt, he couldn’t deny that there was a twinge of regret in it too. Oikawa was good at getting what he wanted, and if Suga spoke to him now, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t let himself be talked into Oikawa’s bed. It was safer to simply not respond.

Until Suga came out into the ER waiting room to speak with the secretary on duty and spotted a long, wool coat and a fluffy head of hair.

Suga swore under his breath.

“You can’t keep showing up at my work,” he said, striding purposefully over to the spot on the wall where Oikawa was leaning.

“You didn’t give me much choice. You wouldn’t answer my calls.” Gone was the playful lightness in Oikawa’s voice. His anger was no longer buried under pretenses, it was out in the open, raw and red. “A voicemail message? Really?”

Suga set his jaw. “I’m not doing this here. Come on.” He led Oikawa into one of the family rooms. Suga was not inclined to lock himself in with a furious Oikawa just yet, so he leaned against the closed door as Oikawa sized him up, shoulders drawn tight in his immaculately-fitted coat.

“I’m surprised at you, Sugawara,” he began, dark eyes laser-focused on Suga’s own. “I thought you of all people would at least have the decency to tell me to my face.”

“Oikawa, I’m…” Suga looked away, ears burning. Yes, he was ashamed. No, he did not want to admit it, at risk of being chewed up and spat out like all of Oikawa’s other opponents.

“You’re what,” Oikawa snapped. “Sorry? Don’t be. If you don’t like me, just say so. I’ll go, I’ll leave you the fuck alone, just tell me to my face.”

“You’re wrong,” said Suga.

“About what?” Oikawa snarled.

Suga faced him, hardening his defenses. Oikawa was not going to best him by throwing a tantrum like a three-year-old child. Suga was better than that. He regretted handling the situation like he had, but at least he could be honest from here on in.

“I like you, Oikawa. I just don’t trust you.”

Silence. Utter silence. Oikawa hadn’t been expecting that, and he cracked, just a little. Enough to see why he was angry. It was the coffee shop all over again. No. It was the parking lot all over again. It was seventeen-year-old Oikawa in front of him, fighting to keep a hold of his composure, when the dam threatened to break. He won that fight, like he always did, and the hurt was tucked away somewhere in a dark corner of his mind, covered over with layers of anger and pride and pretending as though he didn’t care. But it was all pretend, in the end.

Oikawa really, truly didn’t want to end this. Whatever _this_ was.

“For the love of god, Sugawara, would you stop looking at me like that?”

Suga blinked. Oikawa reached toward the door handle, probably intending to yank it open and shove Suga into the wall, but Suga grabbed his wrist. And, surprisingly enough, Oikawa let him.

“You’re right,” Suga breathed, and Oikawa stilled. His expression was stormy, but at least he would hear what Suga had to say. “I’ve been unfair to you. It was selfish, the way I handled things.”

Oikawa looked down at Suga’s hand, still wrapped around the hem of his coat sleeve. “It was,” he said.

“I don’t trust you,” Suga continued, bracing himself for another flare of anger. Oikawa just looked at him, unflinching. “But I can give you a chance to earn my trust. If you’re still interested.”

Oikawa tensed, minutely. Suga let go of his wrist and waited, watched as Oikawa made his calculations.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Oikawa muttered, finally, and then he stepped in close to pin Suga against the door and kiss him fiercely.

It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like any kiss he had ever experienced before. Suga’s blood went from ice cold to boiling in about three seconds, and he wound his arms around Oikawa’s shoulders and squeezed. Oikawa’s hands found their way up Suga’s shirt, pressing so hard into his back that he’d probably find hand-shaped bruises there tomorrow. It didn’t matter. He pushed against Oikawa’s chest, eliciting a whimper until Oikawa realized that Suga was trying to take off his coat, and he stopped complaining.

The coat was discarded. Suga grabbed Oikawa by the tie and yanked him back in, his lips on fire. Oikawa pressed up against him, his chest broad and firm and strong, holding him captive against the door, and it was exactly where he wanted, needed to be.

Suga broke away for a second to pull out his keyring, searching as Oikawa sucked on his collarbone to find the key that locked this particular door. This was _so_ not what the family rooms were meant for, Suga thought dimly as the bolt slid into place.

They didn’t have a whole lot of options in here. A few semi-comfortable, semi-rigid chairs populated the otherwise totally bare room. The floor wasn’t even carpeted. Not exactly romantic. But Oikawa didn’t seem to care, he was too busy grinding his palm into Suga’s rapidly-rising erection through his pants. God, he had amazing hands. That boy was a born setter.

Oikawa walked Suga backwards into one of the hospital chairs and sat him down, carefully getting down to his knees. Oikawa ran his hands up Suga’s thighs, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. Suga knew what he wanted, and nodded, smiling at the way Oikawa bit his lip. His hips arched up as Oikawa undid the ties of his scrub pants and slid them down, along with his boxers. God, he was aching for it.

Oikawa started out with just his tongue, licking a warm, wet stripe up Suga’s cock and swirling around the tip. Suga let his head fall back, tangling one hand in Oikawa’s hair and trying very hard to remain gentle. Oikawa glanced up at him, brown eyes settling on Suga’s face to gauge his reaction. Apparently satisfied, he went back to work, sliding down until Suga hit the back of his throat.

Suga covered his mouth and cursed a blue streak into his palm. He didn’t want to risk being heard by any of the hospital staff but it was _too good_ , where the fuck had Oikawa learned this shit? He deserved an award, an honorary PhD in blowjobs. Suga’s breath hitched and his hips bucked of their own accord. Oikawa expertly hollowed his cheeks as he bobbed, punctuating his motions with an occasional swallow around the head that made Suga’s vision blur.

Oikawa held fast to Suga’s hipbones and sunk his nails in. Suga let his instincts take over and melted into it, riding waves of pleasure up and up and up. He screwed his eyes shut as it climbed, whimpering into his hand, mind completely blank of anything but friction and heat, heat everywhere, from the top of his head to his toes. His breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Oikawa sensed that he was close, and raked his teeth very lightly over the underside of Suga’s cock and with a jolt he was over the edge, unable to breathe, every muscle contracting in synchrony as he spilled down Oikawa’s throat. Oikawa kept moving, letting Suga ride out his orgasm, before he lifted off and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his dress shirt. He’d probably need that dry-cleaned, later.

Gingerly, mindful of his knee, Oikawa stood. He was hard, if the shape of his pants was anything to go by. But instead of going in for another kiss, Oikawa picked his coat up off the floor and shrugged it on. Suga watched for a moment, still collecting his wits, before standing to fix his pants. When both were suitably dressed, Suga took Oikawa by the lapels and brought himself in close.

“You don’t want me to…” Suga left the sentence unfinished.

“I’d rather you owe me a favour.”

“Trustworthy, Oikawa,” Suga said drily.

Oikawa was momentarily cowed. “Right. Sorry. Though, for what it’s worth, I can give you my personal guarantee that you will very much enjoy repaying me.”

 _And he’s back_ , Suga thought to himself as Oikawa buttoned his coat, looking smug as ever. Suga unlocked the door, praying to god that the room didn’t smell like sex as they left it. He was going to need a long, hot shower when he got home. Which wasn’t for another seven hours. Great.

Suga walked Oikawa to the door, promising to answer Oikawa’s calls from this point forward. Satisfied, Oikawa hailed a cab and was gone.

Suga ducked back inside before his arms froze right off, brushing the flurries of snow from his hair onto the lobby carpeting. Oikawa had won yet another round of their game, but this time was different. This time, Suga didn’t feel like he’d been defeated.

 

***

 

Satoko’s jaw dropped when she saw him. “Oh my god. I totally called it, you had hate sex!”

Suga glared. “Would you please quiet down?” he said in a harsh whisper. “And it was _not_ hate sex!”

“Oh, so you like him now, do you?” Satoko leaned across the nurses’ desk, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“I never said that.”

“Was it steamy?” she asked. “Where’d you bang, the x-ray rooms? Broom closet? Details, I need details!”

“That,” said Suga, “is none of your business. How did you know, anyway?”

“Oh, come on, you think I can’t tell? You’re relaxed, you’re smiling, your bedhead is marvelous.”

Suga brushed back his hair with his fingers. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but he could try. “No, don’t,” said Satoko, “it’s a good look on you.” She winked at him, for good measure.

Suga rolled his eyes and hurried off to check on the patients he’d kept waiting. And to get away from Satoko, who had started humming ‘Love Shack’ as she sifted through her paperwork. If he became the primary object of all hospital gossip, he was totally blaming everything on Oikawa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfwaaaaaaay! I’mma be so sad when this is over, it’s so much fun to write.
> 
> Accident-prone Bokuto is my favourite Bokuto. I headcanon that he’s as un-graceful off the court as he is graceful on it. Akaashi suffers so much. But just think, if they ever have kids, the apartment will already be baby-proofed.  
> Also, welcome to Trollsville, population Satoko. I love her an irrational amount.


	6. Service Ace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takeruuuuuuuu!  
> This chapter has a lot of notes at the bottom but that's okay, I had a lot of feelings writing it.

_From: Oikawa Tooru_

_> Want to go to a volleyball game with me? Takeru’s playing Date Tech_

_> His serves are getting really precise. Im so proud  _ (ಥ‿ಥ)

Walking into the Spring High competition again was a strange experience. The most striking aspect was the smell. Inhaling a mixture of sweat and stale air and the rubbery scent of new volleyball, the déjà vu was almost overwhelming, and Suga remembered the old skip in his heartbeat, every time he used to enter this room to compete.

Oikawa spoke directly into his ear, pointing out the names and positions of every player on the new Aoba Johsai team as they warmed up. Suga spotted Takeru on the sidelines, laughing at something his libero was saying as he stretched. On the other side of the court, Dateko’s team was clustered around a player who could have been Aone’s twin, and was probably his younger brother. In fact, there was Aone himself, in the bleachers opposite them, eyes laser-locked on the Aoba Johsai team. _Still targeting the ace_ , Suga mused, following his gaze.

“Ah, you found him,” said Oikawa. “He comes to all of Dateko’s games. Aone! Yoohoo!” Oikawa stood and waved energetically at Aone, who frowned back at him before returning his eyes to the Seijoh ace. “I think he likes me,” Oikawa said, “Though, I’ll admit, it’s very hard to tell. My ultimate goal is to make Aone smile, one of these days. Assuming his face can even do that.”

The whistle blew, and Takeru and his team lined up opposite Date Tech to begin the match. Takeru served first. Oikawa was perched on the edge of his seat, gripping the railing in front of him as Takeru lined himself up, spinning the ball in his hands the exact same way Oikawa once had. Takeru’s face was a mask of concentration. The air in the gym was strung tight like a rubber band, waiting for the game to begin. The whole gym seemed to hold its breath as Takeru tossed, bent, and ran up to spike the ball. Then, almost instantly, Suga heard the telltale smack as the ball sailed straight into the ground on the opposite side of the court. Cheers went up immediately from the stands, behind Seijoh’s teal banner. Oikawa jumped out of his chair, yelling his head off as Takeru’s teammates clapped him on the back, and Suga couldn’t help but grin.

Takeru manages two more service aces before Dateko was able to steal a point for themselves. After that, the fight began in earnest. Oikawa hollered advice from the stands, mostly drowned out by the crowd, but enthusiastic nonetheless. Suga sat back and watched with real interest. Dateko still had a truly impressive block, putting a lot of pressure on Takeru to make the right choices as a setter. Aone the Younger was a better guesser than his brother, and stopped quite a few of Aoba Johsai’s quicks. But Aoba Johsai was not to be deterred; after a short time-out, ten points in, they sent out their best receivers to scoop up Dateko’s kills before they hit the court, keeping the ball in play even after it had been successfully blocked.

The first set went up to 27 points, eventually ending in Dateko’s favour. Cheers of “Let’s go Dateko!” echoed through the gymnasium, fighting for domination over the hollering of Aoba Johsai’s supporters. As the teams switched sides, Suga stole a glance at Oikawa. He had his game face on, the ultimate calm he had always displayed when trying not to lose focus on the match. The harsh light of the gymnasium reflected off his glasses, obscuring his eyes from view until Suga shifted slightly in his chair. Oikawa realized Suga was watching him and met his gaze.

“Date Tech is strong this year,” said Suga, for the sake of making conversation.

The corners of Oikawa’s mouth twitched up into that familiar, determined smile. “Just wait, Suga-chan. You’ll see what Seijoh can do.”

Suga smiled and turned back to the court. Apparently Takeru wasn’t the only person Oikawa was here for. Suga felt the same. His old volleyball team had made a permanent impression on his character, and even if the players had all changed, something about it was still _his_ team.

The next set turned the tide in Seijoh’s favour, thanks to some more strategizing. A surprised grin spread over Oikawa’s face after one particular coordinated attack. “I came up with that one,” he said proudly. “I can’t believe they’re still using it.”

“Well, it seems to be working,” Suga replied. Oikawa slipped his hand into Suga’s after that, tightening his grip whenever Seijoh scored another point.

Aoba Johsai won the set by a hair, and the next one by a landslide, the full weight of Takeru’s impressive serve finally overcoming the Dateko team’s morale. Oikawa was hollering like an idiot as soon as the ball dropped on Dateko’s side for the last time, arguably more excited than Takeru’s teammates. The second-stringers ran out onto the court, tackling Takeru and his spikers into a giant teal-and-white dogpile in the centre of the floor. Oikawa’s smile was blinding, like staring into the sun.

 

***

 

“Tooru – ack!” Takeru sputtered when Oikawa caught him up in a smothering hug. “Ojisan, can’t. Breathe.”

Oikawa released him, but only enough to reach up and noogie his nephew. “Those serves were killer, Takeru! You’re getting so much better, I can’t believe it! You’re almost as good as I was!”

“I’m probably better than you by now, old man,” Takeru said with a smirk.

Oikawa’s mouth dropped open in mock disbelief. “Is he sassing me? My own flesh and blood?”

Suga laughed. “I don’t know why you’re surprised, Oikawa, didn’t you teach him everything he knows?”

Oikawa crossed his arms and pouted. “Old man my ass. Twenty-five is not old, I will have you know.”

“Old enough,” said Takeru. He slung his gym bag over one shoulder. “Mom said you were buying me dinner, should we go?”

“Not with that attitude, I’m not. Apologize or starve, Takeru.”

“You can’t do that! I’m a growing boy! Plus, mom will eviscerate you if you don’t feed me.”

Suga trailed behind as the two of them bickered, amused and content. They were almost out of the building when Suga caught a glimpse of a familiar shock of red hair. Oikawa, on the other hand, was too absorbed in his argument to notice until he nearly walked straight into Tendou Satori’s chest.

“Hey! It’s Juliet! Long time no see, bro! And Sugawara-kun too, how’s it going?”

Oikawa cocked his head. “Juliet? And hello to you too, Tendou.”

“Yeah, inside joke. Waka was the Romeo in this scenario, if that helps with the context. What are you two doing at the Spring Highs?” Tendou then seemed to notice Takeru’s presence, and his grin widened. “Oh, hey, you’re the Seijoh setter, right? Nice going, those serves were wicked.”

"Takeru is my nephew. We came to watch him pummel Dateko into the ground."

"Nice, nice," Tendou said, "you managed that just fine, didn't you?"

Takeru nodded, suddenly shy. Oikawa put a protective arm around his shoulders. "So Tendou, you here to scout for Shiratorizawa? Sizing up the competition?"

Tendou gave him a lopsided smile. "Caught me red-handed. I'm not the only one though. Oi! Ukai Junior Junior! Get over here!"

Tendou waved over a man who actually did look an awful lot like Suga's former coach; his haircut was almost identical, though it was black instead of bleach-blonde, and his eyes were similarly shrewd. 

Ukai Junior Junior thumped Tendou on the back and looked up to greet the rest of the group. When his eyes fell on Suga, his brows shot up.

"Suga, what the hell man, I didn't know you were going to be here!"

The voice finally clued Suga in. "Tanaka? Holy shit, I didn't recognize you!" 

Tanaka pulled him into a brief, one-armed hug. "Yeah, I get that a lot. It's the hair, I grew it out on a dare. Noya didn't think I'd keep it this long, he still owes me a thousand yen. But never mind me, how are you man?"

"Great! I'm here with Oikawa, actually."

"Eh?"

"Baldy-chan!" Oikawa cut in, "you're much less bald than you used to be!"

"You are so embarrassing," Takeru muttered under his breath. 

Tanaka's eyes flicked back and forth between them, like he was trying to figure out what he'd missed here. "You? And him? Are doing what exactly?"

Tendou raised an eyebrow at him. "Tanaka, love, please tell me I don't have to have the birds and the bees discussion with you."

At that, Tanaka burst out laughing, leaning on Tendou for support. Oh god, that was not exactly the reaction Suga had been hoping for. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry dude," Tanaka said to Suga, wiping his eyes. "It's just, of all the people in the world I'd ever expect you to date..." He couldn't finish that thought, laughing so hard he bent double. 

Tendou kneed Tanaka in the leg. "I have zero idea what's happened to him but I apologize for it anyway."

Suga nodded sagely, trying to hide his embarrassment. "That's usually a safe bet when it comes to Tanaka."

 

***

 

Tendou and Tanaka readily agreed to accompany them to dinner. The five of them squished into Suga’s car, Takeru reluctantly taking the middle seat. (“But I’m taller than he is!” “Age before beauty, kid. Now scoot.”) They stopped at a brand-new ramen place in town, all red leather and low lighting. Takeru scanned the menu, looking for the most expensive, meat-laden dish he could find, while Oikawa and Tendou ordered themselves a pint each.

“I hope I’m not paying for this,” said Oikawa, side-eyeing Tendou’s drink when it arrived.

Tendou took a long swig. “I’ll pay you back in information, how’s that sound? Seijoh’s playing Johzenji next, I can give you pointers on how to get past their defenses.”

“Give me something on Shiratorizawa and we’ll call it even.”

Tendou frowned in mock offense. “You want me to betray my own beloved team for a pint of beer? Keep dreaming, Juliet.”

“You really don’t need to keep calling me that.”

As the two of them bickered, Suga turned to Tanaka. “So you’ve stayed in touch with Noya, have you? Anyone else from the old team?”

“Yeah, well, if you’re friends with Noya, you’re friends with Asahi too, that’s a given. Those two are weirdly co-dependent. Hinata still sends me a shit-ton of snapchats, so I guess that means we’re still in touch. Oh, and Yamamoto from Nekoma, he lives in Tokyo but he comes down every month or two. I think he’s still after Shimizu, it’s fucking hilarious how tongue-tied he gets around her. Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t swear in front of the kid.”

Suga waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. “Don’t worry too much, he’s sixteen. Also, he has Oikawa for an uncle, I doubt you can corrupt him any more than he already has been.”

“Excuse me,” Oikawa piped up, “I am a fantastic role-model.”

Takeru made a choking sound into his glass of water. Oikawa shot him a disapproving look.

“Anyway,” Tanaka continued, “that’s pretty much everyone. Not counting this idiot, over here.” He jerked his thumb at Tendou, who stuck out his tongue in response.

“I didn’t think you two were that close, in high school,” said Suga.

“We weren’t. It wasn’t until we both joined the same neighbourhood league that we actually started talking. And now, Tendou’s coaching too, so why not go to the competitions together? It just kind of made sense.”

“You’re coaching now?”

“Oh, hells yeah! I’ve been coaching the Karasuno team. I’ve got them all calling me Sensei, it’s great! Way better than Senpai, even!”

Suga had to laugh at that. Some things never changed.

 

 

Dinner went by quickly, full of light-hearted banter and nostalgic anecdotes of their high-school antics. Oikawa delighted in the tale of Daichi’s nervous obsession with the vice-principal’s wig, while Tendou had an incredible wealth of stories about getting into all sorts of volleyball-related trouble. And blaming most of it on Semi. Afterwards, Suga dropped off Tendou and Tanaka at the bus station with a promise to meet up at next year’s Interhighs. By the time they made it back to Oikawa’s sister’s house, Takeru was sprawled out in the back seat, fast asleep. Oikawa’s brother-in-law came out to the car to thank them.

“It really means a lot to Takeru, having you at his games,” he said, gazing fondly through the car window at his son.

“I know, I’m glad.” Oikawa wore a small smile. “Should we wake him up?”

“Nah, I’ll carry him in. He’s had a long day.”

“Want any help?” Oikawa offered.

“Save your knee, I’ve got him.” He opened the car door and slipped his hands under Takeru’s limp form. Eyes still closed, Takeru wrapped his arms around his father’s neck as he turned toward the front door. Oikawa’s sister waved at them from the doorway, and Oikawa blew her a kiss before sliding back into the passenger’s seat.

 

***

 

Oikawa watched the streetlights flicker across Sugawara’s face as he pulled onto the highway. They sailed across the countryside, the treeline pitch-black, out of reach of the incandescent light. He thought he might be getting the hang of this, slowly but surely figuring out how to act around Sugawara. Suga-chan didn’t like Oikawa’s mask, the self-assured swagger he still occasionally put on, when he needed to look more confident than he felt. Which was a bit hypocritical, considering that Sugawara guarded himself too, but whatever, Oikawa could drop it. He wasn’t particularly attached to that persona anyway, not after everything he’d been through. The past few years had really taught him how to be more honest with himself, and that made it a hell of a lot easier to be honest with everyone else, too.

“I didn’t expect to miss it so much,” Sugawara said, eyes on the road. His soft smile glowed in the yellow light.

“I know. It doesn’t go away, either, I still feel the same way at every one of Takeru’s games. When’s the last time you played, Suga-chan?”

Sugawara hummed, thinking back. “A couple months ago, I set a few games for Daichi and Kuroo’s league. But I haven’t played seriously since high school. What about y-” Suga cut himself off mid-word, his face falling. “Oh, right. Sorry, stupid question. Forget I asked.”

“No,” Oikawa said, and shifted in his seat. “I’m fine with talking about it, really. Took a while to get to that point, but I’m okay with it now.”

Sugawara considered this. “Well, I don’t want to push you, but I would be interested to hear how it happened.”

Oikawa took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Yeah, I suppose you would. Okay.”

He fiddled with his seatbelt, choosing his words carefully. Sugawara waited. 

“I guess the whole thing started in first year of college. By the end of the season, I had been practicing a lot, more than anyone else on my team probably, and my knee was starting to get bad. Swollen all the time, for days after every tournament. I was sleeping in a knee brace, taking a bunch of over-the-counter painkillers, basically just trying to push through the pain. I don’t know why I thought it would just go away, in retrospect it was utterly stupid of me. Only Iwa-chan really knew about it, and by the time second year started, I was kind of avoiding him so he wouldn’t notice how bad it had gotten. He was worried about me, he knew something was wrong, but as long as he wasn’t hauling me off the court, I thought everything was okay. Or, if not okay, manageable.

“But then I was playing a practice match, and it just gave. I landed weirdly, I felt something snap, and that was it. This was in the middle of my second year. The team manager took me to the hospital, they told me I needed surgery, but it would be okay, I’d be playing again in six months. That’s the only reason I agreed, because it would allow me to play again. That’s what they told me.”

Oikawa wound his fingers around the belt, tugging on it for the sake of keeping his hands occupied. This is where the story got difficult, but he was determined to finish it. Sugawara deserved to know. This is what he’d meant when he said trustworthy, Oikawa telling the whole truth, unembellished. It was raw, it was ugly, and it was what really happened.

“Anyway I got the surgery, and when I woke up they told me it was worse than they’d thought. The x-rays hadn’t shown the extent of the damage. The bottom line was, they couldn’t fix it completely, just kind of patch it up enough to function. But no more sports, only swimming because it’s easy on the knees. No running, jumping, cycling, none of it. I don’t really remember that conversation, to be honest, I was out of my mind on painkillers at that point but apparently I wouldn’t stop screaming. They actually knocked me out again, just to shut me up.”

Oikawa let out a short little laugh, but there was no humour in it. “After that, I was shuttled off to my parents’ house to recover. I didn’t finish the semester at school, I basically just lay on the couch for two months, watching daytime television and feeling sorry for myself. They put me in therapy, because they didn’t know what else to do, and it helped a bit but I was still pretty depressed. I didn’t really know what to do with myself, when volleyball was taken away from me. The worst part of it was not having a purpose anymore.”

Sugawara’s lips were a hard line. “I can’t imagine. I’m sorry, Oikawa.”

“Don’t worry, it gets better. Eventually Iwa-chan came back for his break, and bullied me into getting my life back on track. He forced me to make a list of everything I was good at, besides volleyball, and taped it to my bedroom door.” Oikawa smiled at the memory. Iwa-chan’s love was forceful in every sense of the word. “I’m a good leader, I’m outgoing, I’m smart, I’m good with numbers, etcetera, etcetera. Then he helped me decide what to do with all that, and made sure I studied everything I’d missed at school. Iwa-chan is the reason I finished my bachelor’s degree.”

Sugawara nodded, thoughtfully. “You know, it still baffles me, how you two didn’t end up together.”

Oikawa studied Sugawara’s face, hoping for maybe a little bit of jealousy. All he found was passive curiosity. Damn, well, it was worth a shot.

“You know, we did try," said Oikawa. "A couple times. We never lasted more than two weeks in an actual relationship, though. We love each other, but we kind of also bring out the worst in each other. Or maybe I just bring out the worst in him. He’s either comforting me or chucking volleyballs at my head, there’s no in between. We have, like, no chill, he and I. It’s good for our friendship to have a bit of space.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” said Suga, glancing over at him.

“Also, it would help if he weren’t quite so straight. I’m pretty sure I’m the only guy he’s ever done anything with, and even that took like five years of prodding.”

Sugawara laughed. He pulled into their exit, arcing around as the road curved out from the highway. They pulled to a stop as the light changed, the red glow of other people’s brake-lights reflected on Sugawara’s face.

Oikawa took off his glasses and fiddled with the earpieces. “You know, I’ll never forget the first time Iwa-chan dragged me to one of Takeru’s volleyball games, after my knee went. I cried through the whole first set. But not because I couldn’t handle it, not being able to play again. I think I was so emotional because I was surprisingly okay. It was the first time I actually found myself moving on, and it was such a relief.”

 

 

They didn’t talk for the rest of the trip. Sugawara looked like he was still digesting Oikawa’s words, even as he pulled into the parking lot of Oikawa’s apartment complex. He stopped the car, staring ahead for a moment longer, as the noise from the engine shut off and everything went silent. Then he turned, and Oikawa could swear his eyes looked a bit too bright.  

“Thank you for telling me all that,” said Sugawara. “It can’t have been easy.”

“None of this has been easy.” Oikawa chewed his lip. “But I’m stronger for it, I think. It helps to hold onto that.”

“I bet it does.”

Oikawa undid his seatbelt. He rested a hand on the console, palm up. Sugawara slid his own hand into Oikawa’s, lacing their fingers together, the heat of his palm soothing in a way Oikawa didn't fully understand. They sat like that for a while, as the car slowly cooled, gazing forward into the night.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1. Tendou calls everyone love, he has a lot of love to give. 
> 
> (2. I’m sorry if the Spring Highs are in the wrong season but for the life of me, I could not find when they are supposed to actually happen. So I’m gonna assume they’re in the spring and leave it at that. Never mind the fact that they start after summer training camp in the anime because since when does that even make sense. Anyway feel free to enlighten me in the comments if I did it wrong. 
> 
> (3. Tendou knows exactly nothing about Shakespeare, he got the nicknames from the Leonardo DiCaprio movie. And I’m crying a little inside because of all of the puns I didn’t manage to work in. Like Tendou calling himself Ben-volley-o. Or the fact that “You should have come to Shiratorizawa” would totally fit into iambic pentameter. *sighs dramatically* 
> 
> (4. Just try to tell me that Ukai with his head shaved wouldn’t look exactly like Tanaka. Just try. 
> 
> (5. Sassy Takeru is love. Sassy Takeru is life.


	7. Two Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: The Smut You've All Been Waiting For  
> \+ some matsuhana and kyouhaba because I am Seijoh trash and ship everything to do with that frickin school. Anyway, enjoy the sexytimes because this story is wrapping up soon and I'll be getting into the final arc in the next chapter. *grins devilishly*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis the last day of OiSuga week, and so this chapter is going up early in celebration. Also because this entire story fits nicely into today's prompt, which is Future.

Suga woke by degrees. The bed was too warm, he was starting to sweat through his thin t-shirt. His sheets felt different, smelled different somehow, and the light was coming from the wrong direction. He shifted against the mattress, then startled when something shifted back **.**

Oh. Right. He’d slept over.

Oikawa was still asleep, curled up beside him in a tangle of blankets, his hair flattened on one side from the pillow. Suga had never noticed how long Oikawa’s eyelashes were, casting tiny shadows on his cheeks in the sunlight. He watched Oikawa’s chest rise and fall, the fading red marks dotted along his collarbone moving ever so slightly as he breathed. A little reminder of what they’d gotten up to last night; Suga imagined he’d find a matching set on himself.

He got up and discarded his shirt, an old one of Oikawa’s that read “I Want To Believe” in big, green letters across the front. In the bathroom, he lingered at the mirror, prodding at his clavicles. He was not wrong about the marks, but a matching set might have been an understatement. He looked like he’d been punched in the throat. Suga wondered if he could get away with a turtleneck at work, or if Satoko would pick up on its meaning. Guess he had no other choice, now.

Oikawa was awake when he came back, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Suga-chan,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. “Come back. It’s cold in here.”

“Liar. Your apartment is a sauna.” Suga climbed back into bed anyway and let himself be pulled backwards into Oikawa’s big spoon. Long, gentle fingers traced patterns on his upper arm, and if he had to guess, he’d say that Oikawa was playing connect-the-dots with his moles.

“Morning,” said Oikawa, his breath warm on Suga’s skin.

“Morning,” Suga replied.

“D’you have work today?” Oikawa asked, burying his nose in the dip between Suga’s shoulder-blades.

“Nope, I’m off ‘til tomorrow afternoon. Why, are you hoping I’ll stay?”

“Maybe.”

Suga rolled over to face Oikawa. “I can stay,” he said, smiling. He reached up to run his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, playing with it, exploring its softness. Oikawa yawned, and pulled him in closer. Their noses brushed, then their lips, and Suga felt his body respond, a slow, sweet tingle running down his spine. His hand slid down Oikawa’s back to his hip, then lower still. Oikawa gave him a sly grin, and in one quick motion, rolled himself on top of Suga, aligning their hips so he could grind down into Suga’s pelvis.

“Good morning to you too, Refreshing-kun.”

Suga giggled, kneading Oikawa’s goddamn perfect ass through his briefs. “You already said that.”

“It meant something different, the second time.” Oikawa bent his head to suck on Suga’s neck, filling in the few patches of skin that hadn’t turned purple from last night. Suga cursed his genetics for making him bruise like a peach, when he was far too weak to stop this. He tilted his head away, exposing the delicate skin of his neck to Oikawa’s mouth, moaning happily. Encouraged, Oikawa roved across his chest, nipping and sucking at his skin. 

“You have condoms here?”

Oikawa looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What do you take me for, Suga-chan? An amateur? I am never unprepared for sex.”

“Of course not, I sincerely apologize for the offense.”

“You should, you’ve hurt me deeply.” Oikawa grinned and fished around in his bedside table, legs still straddling Suga’s hips. He tossed a tube and a little silver packet onto the bed. “There. Satisfied?”

“Not yet.”

“Suga-chan, you are devilish in the morning, you know that?”

“Well, you’re devilish all the time, so I think that makes us even.” Suga propped himself up on one elbow to reach up for another kiss. His hand rested on the smooth column of Oikawa’s throat, the skin there just shy of sweaty.

“In terms of, shall we say, pitching and catching,” Oikawa said in a very low voice, “do you have a preference? ‘Cause I’m good either way.”

Suga had to laugh. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a baseball-metaphor kind of guy. Volleyball metaphors, maybe.”

“I can call it spiking and receiving if you prefer.”

“No, god no, that’s way worse. I’ll take catching, if that’s all right with you.”

“Ah, so you would like to receive my spike?”

Suga’s hands flew up to hide his face. “Please no, I take it back, I regret I ever said anything.”

Oikawa giggled, quite proud of his witticisms. He draped himself over Suga, fingers tangling in silver hair, until Suga peeked out from behind his hands. “Hey,” said Oikawa, softly, when their eyes met. “Remember when I told you that you’re the prettiest?”

“Vaguely,” Suga said, “you might need to remind me.”

Oikawa planted a kiss squarely on his forehead. “Sugawara Koushi, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon.”

Suga gave him a cheeky smile. “More so that you?”

“Good point. Sugawara Koushi, you are the second-most b–” Suga whacked him in the back of the head with a pillow. “Mean, Suga-chan! And right after I gave you a compliment, too!”

“You said it yourself. I’m devilish in the mornings.” Suga tilted his hips to the side, rolling Oikawa off him so he could slide a hand into the waistband of Oikawa’s underwear. His fingers curled around soft skin, and he was rewarded with a sharp exhale. The pad of Suga’s thumb circled the sensitive area just under the tip, and Oikawa’s cock twitched in his hand.

“Oh, fuck, Suga-chan. Forget the sex, let’s just do this.”

“Uh, no,” Suga said, still gently rubbing the same spot, “it’s too late for that. You’ve gotten my hopes up.”

“Mmm.” Oikawa grimaced, slightly, but it was a good grimace. “Fine, take those off.” He picked up the lube as Suga slipped his boxers down and kicked them off the bed. He watched Oikawa slick up his fingers, anticipation coiling somewhere deep inside him. When Oikawa looked up at him, mouth slightly open, his gaze was electric. Very gently, and without breaking eye contact, Oikawa brought Suga’s knee up so he could reach underneath. His touch was a welcome shock, and Suga’s breath hitched as Oikawa’s fingers slid over his entrance, pressing, exploring. Oikawa was drinking in all of it, watching intently as Suga let his face show his pleasure, eyes closing, the skin between his eyebrows creasing.

Suga could be quite controlled during sex if he wanted to be. It took a bit of effort, but he’d had orgasms before in silence, broken only by his breathing. To let himself be heard, to allow Oikawa to know just how much he was enjoying this, was vulnerable. He didn’t entirely trust Oikawa, not yet. But he wanted to, he really wanted to. And it was a two-way street, he had to give Oikawa something to protect, or Suga would never know how capable he was. After last night, he deserved a bit of the real Suga, unguarded.

For fifteen minutes, he could take down his walls. He could let go.

Suga let himself keen, high and unsteady, as Oikawa slid a finger inside him. Oikawa’s eyes were all over him, measuring him, enjoying the reaction and seeking more of it. Suga held himself against Oikawa’s shoulders, skin on white-hot skin. It was a massive tease, a promise of more to come but not nearly enough, not yet.

“More,” Suga whispered heavily, rocking back into Oikawa’s hand.

Oikawa kissed him rough and sloppy as he inserted a second finger. He ground into Suga’s hips as he did so, his rigid cock rubbing up against Suga’s in the most delicious way. The stretch, the friction, the pressure pulsing in a tight, hot ball in his abdomen made him moan into Oikawa’s lips and clench around his hand. Then Oikawa went for his prostate and holy sweet jesus fuck that was good. Suga bit down on Oikawa’s lip, harder than he intended to, but Oikawa seemed to like it because he kissed back with renewed vigor. Any semblance of gentleness on Oikawa’s part was abandoned with the third finger, maybe to provoke him into more biting, maybe because Oikawa could see that he was ready and willing, probably both. Suga scraped Oikawa’s bottom lip with his teeth, causing delightful little shudders through Oikawa’s body. Oikawa twisted and spread his fingers until Suga caught his arm.

“Already?” Oikawa’s voice was low and rough with anticipation. “Impatient, Refreshing-kun.”

“Hypocrite.”

Oikawa smirked. Suga shivered as he withdrew his fingers, missing his touch already. He grabbed a pillow to prop up his hips as Oikawa rolled the condom down over his flushed and heavy cock. Oikawa’s shoulders turned pink when he was aroused, a shade lighter than his cheeks, and something about that tiny detail was unbearably arousing. His eyes roamed over Oikawa’s entire body, taking in the light dusting of chest hair below his collarbone, the mole on his lowest rib, the shadows cast by the dips and swells of muscle. Suga hadn’t let himself think that Oikawa was beautiful before, his opinion of the man was too buried in layers of resentment and disdain to even entertain the notion. But here, stripped of pretenses as well as clothes, Oikawa leaned over him and Suga _saw_.

He lined up against Suga, and then Oikawa groaned in a very un-Oikawa-like manner when he pushed inside. Suga inhaled sharply, as much as his lungs would allow, and held his breath like time suspended. Oikawa hung his head over Suga’s, his soft brown hair curtaining their faces. The world shrank down to the space between Oikawa’s lips and his own. The sunlight was suddenly far too bright, and Suga closed his eyes and kissed Oikawa instead. Lips moved, and bodies followed; slow at first, tantalizingly slow. Then Suga was setting the rhythm, pulling Oikawa down or himself up, he wasn’t quite sure. Gravity was different here, like the attractive force of Oikawa was pulling the Earth in and not the other way around.

Blood was rising, rushing, sloshing through him as he squeezed his eyes shut and growled. Oikawa pulled back a fraction, not breaking rhythm, and whispered “Suga,” into his cheek.

“Don’t,” Suga whispered back. Don’t start calling me that, not now. This is already too much. Suga kissed him so he wouldn’t speak, and with unbearable intimacy, Oikawa kissed back. Everything was rising, he was drowning in his own skin, he needed air and he didn’t.

Oikawa thrust into him, harder, until his body was begging for release and his nails were drawing welts in Oikawa’s back, dragging Oikawa down with him as he finally fell head-first over the edge, plummeting into his orgasm with a strangled cry. Oikawa fucked him through it, roughly, insistently, until his beautiful face screwed up tight and he was coming as well. Half-dazed, sliding from rough release to soft bliss, Suga observed him ride out the aftershocks. Then Oikawa slumped, on top of him, into the sticky mess on Suga’s stomach. Hot, post-orgasmic breaths puffed at his neck.

“Fuuuuuck,” Oikawa said, more of an exhale than a word.

“We certainly did,” Suga replied.

 

***

 

“Mattsun!” Oikawa chirped into the phone, “happy birthday, my lovely spring chicken!”

Matsukawa chuckled in that deep, disarming voice of his. “Good morning, Oikawa.”

“Please tell me I was the first this year.”

“Sorry, my grandmother beat you by a hair. I got off the phone with her about five minutes ago. But you’re the first of our friends, I can give you that.”

Oikawa pouted.

“Don’t pout, I can hear you pouting,” said Mattsun. God, was he that predictable?

“Mattsun, how dare you! I was not pouting.” Oikawa covered the receiver with his hand so Matsukawa wouldn’t hear Sugawara giggling in the background, amused by his obvious lie.

“Right, I’m sorry for the affront to your dignity,” he said, not sorry at all.

Oikawa crossed his arms as best he could while still holding the phone to his ear. “So has Makki made you breakfast in bed yet?” he asked.

“Nope, he’s still asleep.”

“What?! For shame, Makki. It’s Matsukawa Day, that only comes around once a year and he’s sleeping through it!”

“I’ll make sure to pass on the message when he wakes up.”

“Put him on the phone, I’ll wake him up.”

“Oikawa, no.” Mattsun’s tone was still light, but there was an edge of finality in his voice.

“Oh come on, I won’t say anything incriminating. Don’t you trust me?”

Sugawara made a sharp little noise of derision as he brushed past Oikawa, on his way to refill his coffee mug. Oikawa swatted at him, and missed.

“Is that Iwaizumi?”

“No, that is not Iwa-chan.”

“Someone else then? Did he stay the night?” Matsukawa sounded curious. Or maybe just eager to change the subject. “Are you seeing someone, Oikawa?”

“In a sense,” he replied.

“What kind of sense?”

“Mattsun.”

“If you tell me, you don’t have to buy me anything for my birthday.”

“Well, it’s far too late for that, I already got you a present.”

“Please! Let me live vicariously through you. Just this once, on my birthday… pleeease?”

Oikawa sighed. “Just a second, Mattsun.” He held the phone to his chest and glanced up at Sugawara. “He’s asking about us. Is it…?”

Sugawara gave him a dismissive wave of the hand. “It’s fine, I’ve got nothing to hide.” He scooted around Oikawa again, headed for the couch. “This is Matsukawa from Aoba Johsai, right?”

“The very same.” He brought the phone back up to his ear. “Alright, alright.”

“Soooo…?” Mattsun’s tone went down and back up, suggestively. Ugh, must his friends all be so terribly crass?

“So, I have been seeing someone. You remember Sugawara, the setter from Karasuno High?”

“That angry kid you went to middle school with? Jesus, Oikawa, your standards are dropping.”

“What? No! The other one. I used to call him Mr. Refreshing.”

“Still do,” Sugawara put in, from his perch on the arm of Oikawa’s couch.

Oikawa stuck out his tongue at Sugawara before turning his attention back to the phone. “Anyway, what’s wrong with Tobio-chan?”

“That kid was weird. Did you ever see him smile? I had nightmares for days.”

“Is he insulting my kouhais?” Sugawara’s brow creased with concern.

“Oh my god, you guys, I can’t have two conversations at once. Mattsun, leave Tobio-chan out of this, or I’m gonna be the one facing Suga-chan’s wrath.”

“You brought him up,” Mattsun said.

“No I didn’t!” Oikawa rubbed at his temple. “Anyway, can we get back to the reason I was calling you in the first place? This wasn’t supposed to be about my love life.”

“One more question,” said Mattsun, “and I promise I’ll drop it. Are you two dating?”

Oikawa pursed his lips. “Good question. Suga-chan, are we dating?”

“Can I answer that when you’re not on the phone?”

“Mhm, fair enough. Mattsun, I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Anyway, back to your birthday.” Oikawa got up and poured himself some sugar in a coffee mug. “I have some homework for you.”

“Oh god, does this involve Makki?”

“Of course it involves Makki.” Oikawa added coffee to his sugar and stirred. Even in hot coffee, it took a while for all of it to dissolve.

“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it.”

“Oh come on, Mattsun, you’re wasting a birthday if you don’t get at least five orgasms out of it.” In the background, Sugawara made an odd little choking sound. Oikawa winked in his direction.

Mattsun growled. “I’ll hang up on you, don’t test me.”

“Give me one chance to talk to him.”

“Oikawa, I cannot stress this enough. No, fuck no, with the fire of a thousand suns, _no_ , over my dead body I will haunt you as a poltergeist to keep you from talking to Makki.”

Oikawa heard another voice in the background, then a loud smack as Mattsun most likely dropped his phone. More muffled voices, one slightly panicked, and then the line beeped once and the call ended.

 

Oikawa huffed a sigh and flopped down on the couch next to Sugawara, mug in hand. “Poor, poor Mattsun. He ought to let someone help him out, even if it isn’t me.”

“He’s in love, isn’t he?”

“Yup.”

Suga blew on his coffee. “That sucks.”

Oikawa laughed, and leaned into him. “Hopefully that’s not your view of all romance.”

“Hah, no, just the unrequited part.”

“Oh, it’s not, it’s most definitely requited. Hence my attempts to help him out a bit, but Mattsun can be so stubborn with affairs of the heart.”

“Do you know for sure, that it’s reciprocated?”

“Well, not exactly,” Oikawa said, “but I’ve witnessed some extremely unsubtle hinting on Makki’s part. Even Iwa-chan figured it out, and he’s about as perceptive as a bag of bricks. Anyway, that was part one of the birthday phone calls, now for part two.”

Oikawa scrolled through his contacts and dialled. A rough, grumpy voice answered the call.

“What.”

“Mad-Dog-chan, that is no way to answer someone else’s telephone.”

“Hold on.” There was silence, followed by some unintelligible grunting that was probably Kyoutani attempting human speech.

“Oikawa?” Finally, Yahaba’s sleepy yet civilized voice came through.

“Happy birthday, heir to my throne! Has Kyoutani behaved himself today in the presence of birthday royalty?”

“Seems so, though you should know that he’s doing some really impressive eye-rolling right now, and I think it’s directed at you.”

“Seems appropriate for Mad-Dog-chan. Any plans for this beautiful spring day?”

“It’s still winter. And you asked me that already, two days ago.”

Oikawa waved a hand at the air. “Technicalities. And please tell me he’s taking you out tonight.”

“Oh yes, we’re going out. This is the one day a year that I get to make Kentarou wear a suit and I’m not going to waste – hey! Ah, stop that!” He started giggling on the other end of the phone line. With Yahaba momentarily distracted, Oikawa took the opportunity to press a few kisses into Sugawara’s midriff through his borrowed shirt. Suga-chan squirmed, raising the coffee mug so it wouldn’t spill.

“Sorry,” Yahaba said, panting lightly. “Yes, we’re going out to dinner. A fancy dinner too, I had to make reservations and everything.”

“Your former senpai is very proud, young one. My team is growing up so fast.” He sniffled into the phone for dramatic effect.

“How tragic,” Yahaba drawled. “I think I look more grown up than I feel. Am I supposed to be a certified adult by now?”

“Yahaba, darling, as your wise and learned elder–“

“We’re the same age, as of today.”

“ _As_ I was saying, my vast reserves of wisdom can impart upon you the secret of adulthood. Are you ready, my child?"

Yahaba sighed. “I am ready. Bestow your wisdom upon me, senpai.”

“Thank you.” Oikawa cleared his throat. “As you carry forth on your journey into your mid-twenties, you will learn the greatest secret of all: that there is no secret. You will stumble through the rest of your days, making it up as you go along, and pretending your life is a coherent narrative rather than a collection of stitched-together fragments of experience. But you may at least take comfort in the knowledge that everyone else is groping around blindly in the darkness, just like you.”

There was a pause. “Helpful,” said Yahaba, sounding unconvinced. “Oh, hey, the eye-rolling is back.”

Oikawa shook his head, sharing a knowing smile with Sugawara. “You’ll appreciate my words in due time. Anyhow, I’ll let you get back to Mad-Dog and his eye spasms. I’d suggest medical attention if they don’t go away in the next few minutes.” He brushed off Sugawara’s sudden look of concern with a whispered “kidding.”

“Thanks,” said Yahaba, “See you on Monday, oh wise and generous senpai.”

 

Oikawa smiled as he hung up. He’d always had a particular soft spot for Yahaba. And though Mad-Dog-chan outwardly appeared as though he would be a terrible boyfriend, Oikawa knew how much they had helped each other to grow, these past few years.

“Is that it,” Sugawara asked, “or are you planning on phoning half of Miyagi this morning?”

“That’s it, for today. Aoba Johsai VBC birthdays tend to come in pairs. There’s Mattsun and Yahaba, Watari and Kunimi, Kindaichi and Iwa-chan… we do a lot of doubled-up celebrations. And then there’s my birthday which, sadly, comes without a mate. But I’m worth two parties anyway.”

“Of course you are.” Sugawara gently tugged on a lock of his hair. “Speaking of parties, want to come by some time and see Daichi and Kuroo? I have them over for dinner pretty regularly, you should join us one of these days.”

“So they can meet your boyfriend?” Oikawa put on a sly grin. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yeah, about that…” Sugawara held his gaze. “Are we? Dating? I’d like to know.”

“I asked you first, Suga-chan.”

Sugawara smiled into his mug. “Okay. I wouldn’t mind it if we were dating.”

“You wouldn’t mind or you want to date me?”

“You can be kind of blunt, Oikawa, you know that?”

“I am a man of many talents,” said Oikawa, looking up at Sugawara through his lashes.

“And is one of those talents worming confessions out of other people?”

“You make it sound so sinister.”

Sugawara looked him straight in the eye. “I want to date you. Do you want to date me?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Answer the question, Oikawa.” Sugawara’s face was creased with hard lines of satisfaction.

Oikawa took a sip of his coffee. Needs more sugar. “You’re getting too good at this game for my liking.”

Sugawara said nothing, still waiting for an answer. “Very well,” Oikawa conceded, “we’re dating then.”

“We’re dating or you want to date me?”

“Oh for the love of–”

“I wanna hear you say it,” said Sugawara poking him in the shoulder.

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to date you. You’re pure evil.”

“So, what I’m hearing you say is that you wanted to date me before.” Sugawara said, carefully setting his own mug, and then Oikawa’s, down on the coffee table.

“That was a long time ago, I was young and stupid, I’ve seen the light. Wait, what are you doing, Suga-chaaaaaaAAAN!” Oikawa shrieked as Sugawara proceeded to tickle him into the couch cushions with all of the vindictive force he could muster.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OIKAWA STOP MAKING VOLLEYBALL PUNS PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU
> 
> Oikawa needs to start up a charity for Mattsun’s sexual frustration. It’s a worthy cause. He also very much enjoys waxing poetic to his kouhais, and they put up with him without complaint like the polite little ducklings they are.


	8. Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is already full of rarepairs so I might as well just toss you some IwaYui for the hell of it.

Oikawa dawdled on the way to Sugawara’s apartment building. He stopped to tie his shoe three times. He checked his Instagram feed, but alas, no new followers. He got to the lobby door, stared at it for a moment, then turned to take a lap around the block and call Iwa-chan.

_“I thought you had a date tonight, Oikawa.”_

“I did. I do. I just haven’t gone in yet.”

_“Why not?”_

“Biding my time.”

Iwa-chan huffed into his receiver. _“For what? Aren’t you already late?”_

“You don’t know that!”

_“Since when are you ever on time for anything.”_

Oikawa cringed, and switched the phone to his other ear. His hands were getting cold. “I’m not late.” He was. “I’m just trying to–”

_“You’re nervous. You like this guy and you’re worried his friends won’t like you.”_

“Shut up.”

_“Whoa, hey, you called me, remember?”_

“Not so you could make false accusations!” They weren’t false, he knew that. This was a game they played. Even if Iwaizumi couldn’t get him to admit to his insecurities, it still helped for some reason. Iwa-chan’s yelling had long ceased to be scary, and was now oddly soothing; as long as he was mild-to-moderately irritated with Oikawa, everything was right with the world.

_“Whatever. Remember, this should be easy, you’ve met these guys before. They already know you’re an ass.”_

“Rude, Iwa-chan!”

_“I call it like it is. And Sugawara likes you anyway, so don’t worry about it too much. Just be yourself. Actually, wait, that’s terrible advice. Don’t be yourself. Yourself is annoying as hell.”_

“I think you’ve just made it worse.” Oikawa turned a corner and was back on Sugawara’s street. His condo building loomed large and dark. There were lights on, in some of the windows. If he counted, he could probably figure out which one belonged to Sugawara.

_“You’ll be fine. Just don’t drink too much, you’re awful when you’re drunk.”_

“Remind me, why are we still friends? I do not deserve such abuse.”

_“Good luck, Shittykawa.”_

“Hmph.” He hung up and found himself back where he started, at the edge of the walkway up to Sugawara’s front door. Alright, game face. It’s just like a match, as long as he stayed focused, everything would turn out in his favour.

His concentration was broken by enthusiastic chattering, coming nearer on the sidewalk. Well, no more dawdling now, he was pretty sure he recognized that strange black-and-white hairdo.

“Bokuto Koutarou, isn’t it?” Oikawa said with one of his best friendly smiles.

“Oh, hey, you’re Oikawa!” Bokuto grabbed his hand and shook it, rather forcefully. “Oh man, this is gonna be great, I’m so excited to meet you!”

“He has been all night,” said Bokuto’s companion, a man with dark, feathery hair and a killer double-breasted wool coat. Oikawa would have to ask about it later. “Akaashi Keiji, it’s a pleasure.”

He bowed, and Oikawa inclined his head in response. The two of them seemed like an odd match, but Oikawa wasn’t here to judge.

Bokuto dragged them both in, wearing the most ridiculous grin Oikawa had ever seen on a grown man. Oikawa and Akaashi shared a look as he greeted the doorman by his first name. When Bokuto suggested taking the stairs (to the tenth floor? Is he insane?) Oikawa had to decline on account of his knee, flushing just a little bit with embarrassment.

“You can’t play volleyball anymore?” Bokuto’s hair drooped noticeably. “Oh my god, that’s like the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Akaashi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Koutarou–”

“No, it’s alright,” Oikawa said, holding his palms up. “I don’t mind. You’re right, it sucks. But I haven’t had to give up all sports, and I’ve gotten pretty decent at swimming.”

“Swimming?” The elevator dinged, and Bokuto hopped out into the carpeted hallway. “That sounds like fun! What kind of swimming? Can you teach me?”

“Front and back crawl, mostly. And sure, I could use someone to race against.”

Bokuto’s eyes went wide. “Race? Aw, hell yeah, let’s race! That sounds awesome!”

“I hope you know what you’re signing yourself up for, Oikawa-san,” said Akaashi.

Apparently Sugawara’s door was unlocked, because Bokuto went straight in without even knocking. Akaashi followed, then Oikawa, with his hands in his pockets.

“Hoot hoot, motherfuckers, the party has arrived!” Bokuto kicked off his shoes and struggled with his coat until Akaashi held the sleeves for him.

“Oh ho ho?” Kuroo’s head appeared from the next room, his hair still wild as ever. “And who do we have here?”

Oikawa leaned against the doorframe. “Kuroo Tetsurou. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” Kuroo slunk around the corner into Oikawa’s full view. “Look at us, four captains in the same room again. It’s like a high-school reunion or something.”

“Former captains, Kuroo, I’m not your rival anymore.”

Kuroo’s grin might have suggested otherwise, but he clapped Oikawa on the back and led him into the apartment. “Suga!” Kuroo called, “I found your boyfriend!”

“Hey,” Bokuto whined, “no fair, I found him first!”

Sugawara was sitting at his kitchen table with Sawamura. He stood when he saw them and crossed his arms.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in," he said with a cheeky smile.

“I resent that,” said Oikawa, but he didn’t protest when Sugawara stood on his toes to peck him on the cheek. In that moment, Oikawa gained a new appreciation for his own height.

Daichi twisted in his chair, holding a hand out over the backrest. “You’re looking good, Oikawa. I heard about the knee, I’m sorry.”

Oikawa shook his hand, and it felt the same as it had eight years ago, at the Spring High tournament. Was that a hint of a challenge he detected in Sawamura’s eyes?

“You look pretty well yourself. Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thanks,” said Sawamura, absently rubbing a thumb over the simple black-and-silver band on his left ring finger. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Alright, who’s ready to eat?” Sugawara clapped his hands in the general direction of the couch, where Kuroo and Bokuto stopped bickering and perked up at the mention of food. “We’ve got takoyaki, onigiri, salad, udon, the works. Oikawa, you can hang up your coat, the closet’s in the hall. Daichi, I need another pair of hands for all this…”

Oikawa slipped out of the kitchen as it sprung to life. He divested himself of his coat, and pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Iwa-chan before returning.

 

_To: Iwa-chan <3 _

_> Sawamura doesn’t like me, I can feel it_

_From: Iwa-chan <3 _

_> what did you do_

_To: Iwa-chan <3 _

_> Nothing, I swear! (T ˄T)_

_From: Iwa-chan <3_

_> then stop texting me and fix it, dumbass_

 

Oikawa narrowed his eyes at his phone before he put it away. Iwa-chan was no help, no help at all.

 

***

 

Iwaizumi was typing out more insults when a tiny marshmallow candy hit him squarely in the forehead. He caught it before it could disappear in the couch cushions, and glared at Yui.

“What was that for?”

“Stop texting, you’re missing the part with the thestrals.” She gestured at the TV screen with the remote.

“You can’t even see them.”

“Yes, but they’re _there._ Ergo, still the part with the thestrals. And you’re missing it.”

Iwaizumi scooped a massive handful of marshmallows out of Yui’s bowl before she could protest, and flicked one at her. She shrieked with laughter and tried to dodge, but it stuck in her hair.

“Happy now?” said Yui, scrunching up her nose at him.

Iwaizumi plucked the candy off her head and popped it in his mouth. “It was very important texting. Oikawa’s managed to piss off at least one person tonight, and he’s only just made it in the door.”

Yui put the bowl down and snuggled into Iwaizumi’s side. “That’s unsurprising. Where is he?”

“Meeting Sugawara’s friends. You know Sugawara, right?”

Yui sat up. “Wait, _that’s_ who Oikawa is dating? Sugawara Koushi? You’re not serious.”

“Yup,” Iwaizumi said around a mouthful of marshmallows.

“And he’s seeing Suga’s friends? Does that include Daichi?”

Iwaizumi swallowed. His throat was instantly coated in sugary glue. “Daichi’s the one he managed to piss off.”

Yui laughed, full-throated and sweet. “Well,” she said, grabbing his phone, “you can’t let him muck this up before I have a chance to catch up with Daichi and Suga. The thestrals can wait.”

“Relax, I’m not going to let him screw up. I think Sugawara’s good for him.”

“Suga’s good for anyone,” said Yui, matter-of-factly. “He is, after all, an actual angel.”

“If that’s the case, what in heaven’s name is he doing dating Oikawa? He could do so much better.”

Yui giggled. “You know what? I think I can see it. Oikawa’s weird, but he’s fun, and Suga needs fun. They would make a good couple.”

“I hope you’re right, because Oikawa is falling hard for him.”

“Really? How can you tell?”

“He’s nervous,” said Iwaizumi. “He’s never nervous to meet a date. Usually he expects them to be drooling over him by the end of the night.” He sighed, and pulled Yui onto his lap. “This is either going to end really well or really badly.”

Yui wiggled happily in his embrace. “Let’s hope for really well. Now, can we _please_ get back to the thestrals?”

 

***

 

Dinner conversation mostly revolved around two topics. The first was Akaashi’s master’s thesis, which he was supposed to defend in a month. The second was a recap of Kuroo’s recent trip to the ER, told for Bokuto’s benefit. Wide-eyed, and with his hair sticking up even higher than usual, Bokuto hung on Kuroo’s every word while Sugawara corrected his exaggerations and Sawamura edged in protectively closer to his fiancé.

Oikawa neatly kept the conversation off himself. There was an art to it; every time a question was thrown his way, he’d answer concisely and vaguely, and follow with another question directed at someone else. Sugawara started to notice after a while, and by the end of dinner, was giving him the side-eye whenever he deflected. But Sugawara had dishes to do, and by that time, Oikawa had gotten Kuroo and Bokuto onto the topic of old training-camp shenanigans.

“Bo, you remember Prank Wars?” said Kuroo, sprawled out on the couch.

“Oooh, this sounds interesting,” said Oikawa.

Kuroo smirked. “We cut Goura’s ponytail right off. In the middle of practice. He didn’t notice for five whole minutes.”

“He had no idea who did it,” Bokuto added.

“And then Yamamoto wore it to dinner,” said Kuroo, which sent Bokuto into a fit of giggles.

Sawamura groaned. “You’re all going to hell,” he said, head in hands.

Kuroo leaned in to pretend-whisper in Oikawa’s ear. “He’s just afraid we’re going to tell you how badly he got owned at training camp.”

“If you love me, Kuroo, you will not tell this story.”

“Daichi,” Kuroo purred, “my adorable, naïve crowlet. It’s because I love you that I have to tell it.”

“Story story story!” said Bokuto, leaning forward in his chair.

“Bro, you were there!”

“Yeah, but you tell it so well!”

“I do, thank you Bokuto.” Kuroo tented his fingers and took a breath as Sawamura fled to the safety of the kitchen.

“So it all started with a handful of 5- and 10-yen coins I won off of Fukunaga in a poker game.” Bokuto and Oikawa both scooted in a bit closer as Kuroo launched into his recollection. “Which is all well and good, but what am I going to do with, like, 600 yen in coins? That’ll only buy about two sodas. Or…” Kuroo paused for effect, his ever-present smirk widening, “forty tampons from the dispenser in the girl’s bathroom.”

“Oh my god.”

“Oh yes. And guess where they went.”

Oikawa smiled. “Sawamura’s gym bag?”

“Sawamura’s gym bag indeed, which he proceeded to open in front of everyone in the main gym. It was, like, an eruption of tampons. Azumane actually fainted.”

“That is brilliant.”

“That’s only the beginning,” said Bokuto, “it gets even better.”

Kuroo lifted a finger to the ceiling. “And so it began, the great tampon-ing of summer training camp.”

“They were everywhere,” Bokuto said.

“His locker, his court shoes, his pillowcase…” Kuroo listed these off on his fingers. “He walked around for about twenty minutes with a sanitary napkin stuck to the back of his shirt before Suga found it.”

Oikawa chewed his lip, eagerly listening and trying not to laugh. If only he’d had Kuroo’s pranking skills during his Seijoh days. Not even Mattsun and Makki could top this.

“The grand finale,” said Kuroo, “was Bo’s idea.” He patted Bokuto on the head, pushing back his friend’s spiky hair. Bokuto preened. “We, ahem, _acquired_ Daichi’s uniform, as well as a can of tomato paste.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Bokuto was squirming in anticipation by now.

“And we… how can I put this delicately. We administered tomato paste strategically to his shorts. And then hung them up outside on a clothing line. Along with his captain’s jersey, in case anyone needed clarification.”

Oikawa’s eyes were wide. “No!”

“Yes!” Bokuto’s laughter spilled out of him. Kuroo pulled Bokuto into an affectionate headlock and ruffled his hair, grinning wickedly.

“You're dead to me, Kuroo,” Sawamura called from the kitchen. 

Sugawara came out into the living room, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “We got him back, though.”

Oikawa grabbed Sugawara by the hips and pulled him onto his lap. He was warm, and relaxed into Oikawa’s hold without hesitation. “Did you, now?” Oikawa asked, sliding his arms around Sugawara’s waist.

“He did,” said Kuroo. “And I must concede, it was a very simple yet very elegant solution.”

“What did you do?”

Sugawara’s eyes were full of mirth. “I told the Shinzen girls’ team.”

“And boy, did they retaliate.” Kuroo gazed off into the distance. “I still get flashbacks.”

“Female volleyball players are surprisingly strong,” Bokuto added, shivering slightly.

“It was your own fault, Kuroo,” said Sugawara, crossing his arms self-righteously.

Kuroo sighed. “I know. I was so immature.”

“You’re still immature.” Sugawara said, glancing sideways at Kuroo.

“Less so than I used to be. I’m slowly but surely improving. It is a long and winding road to sainthood, but I’m on my way.”

“Is it safe to come out yet?” Sawamura stuck his head out from the kitchen. From somewhere behind him in the kitchen, Oikawa could hear Akaashi snickering.

“I’m not getting laid tonight, am I,” said Kuroo, to no one in particular. Oikawa smiled, and buried his nose in Sugawara’s hair.

 

***

 

Later that evening, after stepping out for a smoke, Oikawa found himself alone with Sawamura on the balcony. Sawamura’s face betrayed no emotion, calmly gazing out at the shifting lights of the distant freeway.

Oikawa offered him a cigarette, but Sawamura shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think Kuroo would kill me.”

“Suit yourself,” Oikawa replied, pocketing the carton. “So, is this the part where you give me the whole ‘I’d better not hurt Sugawara or you’ll bring the pick-up truck around with your rifle in the back’ speech?”

“Blunt, Oikawa,” he said, eyes going a little wider. “And violent, might I add. I would have put it a little more subtly, but yes.” Sawamura toyed with his engagement ring. He seemed to be constantly fiddling with it. Must still be pretty new.

 “I can’t wait until Sugawara gets the same damn thing from Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, with obvious sarcasm. It made Sawamura chuckle. “I’d like to think I can take care of my own love life.”

“Are you implying that I’m overprotective?” Sawamura asked. The challenge in his tone was back, but at least it didn’t seemed to carry any hostility.

“I’m implying that Iwa-chan is overprotective. Which he definitely is. With you, the jury’s still out.”

“Well, thank you for reserving your judgments.” Sawamura leaned on the railing, soft wind playing around the collar of his shirt. “I’m only doing this because he’s my best friend and I care about him.”

Oikawa licked his lips. “I think I care about him too, you know.”

“You think?”

“It’s a bit early still, but I’m getting that impression.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, staring out at the city lights to avoid Sawamura’s gaze.

“Well, I guess that’s a good start. Though I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“I can accept your tentative approval. I fully intend to stick around long enough to prove my worthiness of Suga-chan’s affections.”

Sawamura turned. “Really? Have you told him that?”

“I will, in due time. Let’s not rush things, Sawamura-chan.”

Sawamura pursed his lips. “You know, the –chan is not necessary. For either of us. Suga prefers just Suga.”

“It’s a nickname, bestowed out of affection.” Oikawa wore a sly smile. “Surely you can’t object to that.”

“Didn’t used to be affectionate.”

Fuck. Here we go.

“You’re right, and you’re wrong,” said Oikawa, straightening his spine. "I didn’t actually dislike Suga-chan in high school, as difficult as that may be for you to believe.”

Sawamura cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, pretty difficult. Enlighten me.”

“Very well.” Oikawa tossed the remains of his cigarette off the balcony, and ignored the face Sawamura made in response. “Suga-chan was a rival. Like Ushiwaka, but maybe less obvious about it. From my perspective, he existed to beat me, or to be beaten.”

“You’re not helping your case, here, Oikawa.”

“Then you don’t understand rivalries the way I do.” Oikawa’s fingers played with a button on his shirt. He wanted another cigarette. “Volleyball was… my purpose. You understand. Twelve years of my life were all about winning. But you can’t win unless you have someone to play against, can you?”

“So you needed Suga.”

Oikawa scoffed. “ _Needed_ is a strong word. I had other teams to defeat. But yours sure made an impression, and Suga-chan caught my interest. He let me in more than Ushiwaka ever did. More of a battle of wits than a brute-force stare-down, and I liked strategizing.”

“Why did he hate you, then?” Sawamura asked, and he sounded genuinely curious.

“I played by my own rules, I suppose. Victory is sweeter when it gets personal, so I made it personal. I don’t think that’s what Suga-chan had in mind.”

“No, I can’t imagine it was.”

“You’re worried that nothing’s changed.” Oikawa didn’t phrase it as a question, he could read Sawamura well enough. “It’s been eight years, Sawamura-chan.”

Sawamura shook his head. “People don’t change that quickly, not in my experience.”

“Not unless they’re forced to,” Oikawa said, and Sawamura’s eyes briefly dropped to his knee. He knew which one, he’d seen Oikawa’s brace back in high school.

“I’m not here because I want to win against him,” said Oikawa, and he fixed his gaze on Sawamura, staring him straight in the eye. “We’re on the same team now, he and I.”

Sawamura paused a moment, before a slow smile crept over his face. “You and your volleyball metaphors.”

Oikawa grinned. “I have yet to encounter a situation in my life that cannot be described using volleyball metaphors. You’re welcome to challenge me on that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sawamura replied, with a laugh. They both turned back to look out over the railing once more. Oikawa felt a twinge of something in his chest, like the feeling he got when Iwaizumi showed one of his rare smiles. He was glad he got to be friends with Sawamura, it was nicer than rivalry. And Oikawa was never very good at forging friendships with his competition.

“Maybe I’ve been jumping to conclusions,” Sawamura admitted, lacing and re-lacing his fingers. “Suga is just one of those people, he’s – he is so important. And I don’t mean to me, though obviously he is important to me. I mean in general, he’s the kind of person that just brings something to the world that you have to protect at all costs. I don’t know how to describe it better.” He sighed. “A long time ago, I stopped trying to tell him how much I admire him, because he never seems to want to hear it. But Suga’s the kind of person who will sit with a terminal patient for hours, a complete stranger. And not on principle either, he just does these things. It doesn’t even take a second thought, he makes sacrifices without even considering himself. I honestly get anxious when I go on the subway with him, because if someone fell, he’d be the kind of person to jump in front of a moving train to save them. That, I don’t know, that’s rare in a person. And it makes him bad at protecting himself, so sometimes I feel like I need to do it for him.”

Oikawa’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I understand,” he said, very quietly.

Sawamura ran a hand through his short, thick hair. “I don’t mean to imply that you’re one of his charity cases. That’s probably not true, I just want to make sure you see him the same way I do.” 

“I think I do.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Sawamura, some of the tension dissipating from his voice. “What do you think, should we head back inside?”

“S’pose so,” Oikawa replied.

Sawamura patted Oikawa’s shoulder. He had to reach up a bit to do so. “How much do you want to bet that Bokuto’s fallen asleep on Akaashi’s lap?”

Oikawa checked his watch. “It’s not even ten o’clock!”

“Yeah, well, that’s Bokuto for you. We’ll put on some music to drown out the snoring.” Together, they headed back into the warmth and the light, to rejoin the party.

The rest of the night passed without incident, though Oikawa may have been just a little bit distracted. He stayed behind when the others left, wrapped in Suga-chan’s warmth in the early hours of the morning, trying to sleep. But Sawamura’s words rang loud in his brain, striking something unnamed in the back of his mind.

 

_You’re probably not one of his charity cases._

_Probably._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I haven’t seen HP in a long-ass time, so forgive me if I messed up the bit about the thestrals)


	9. Saints and Sinners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy.

_He makes sacrifices for total strangers. (I like you, I just don’t trust you…)_

_He’s bad at protecting himself. (From you, Oikawa. Sawamura was protecting him from you.)_

Oikawa cursed and rubbed his eyes. The words on his monitor, belonging to the report he was supposed to submit this afternoon, blurred into one big mass of text without beginning or end. He felt like his thoughts had come loose and were rattling around in his brain, bumping into each other and making a godawful racket.

He needed to smash a ball into the ground until his arm ached, but he wasn’t allowed. Maybe some coffee would help, or fresh air. He had to do something, it wouldn’t help to keep sitting in front of his laptop and staring right through it. With a heavy sigh, Oikawa got up and ambled over to the break room, loosening his tie. He had a headache coming on, and the fluorescent lights prickled the backs of his eyes.

Soon after, Yahaba strolled in. He looked Oikawa over, no doubt taking in the bleariness in his expression, and clicked his tongue. “Rough night?” he asked, pouring two cups of stale coffee and handing one to Oikawa. Yahaba dug a handful of sugar packets out of the basket by the coffee machine and tossed them on the table. One slid too far and landed in Oikawa’s lap.

Oikawa squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. It didn’t help. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

“You don’t look fine.” Yahaba sat down, tugging at the knees of his dress pants to do so. He looked so grown up, having developed a sort of commanding presence that Oikawa had never really seen when they were back at Seijoh. He’d caught glimpses of it when Yahaba was made captain, soon after Oikawa’s graduation. And now, he had blossomed full-force. Yahaba at 24 (no wait, he was 25 now, good lord) was barely recognizable as the knock-kneed, wide-eyed fifteen-year-old kouhai who had idolized his setting skills, way back when.

“You want to talk about it?” asked Yahaba, draining his cup.

“No.”

“You sure?”

Oikawa glared. “I got you this job, Yahaba-kun, and I can have you fired just as easily.”

Yahaba smirked. Oikawa threatened to have him fired on a weekly basis, but they both knew he never would. “Just don’t make me call Iwaizumi again. Have some water _before_ you pass out this time.”

“Yes, mother,” he said, sulking.

Yahaba stood, and ruffled Oikawa’s hair – despite the fact that Oikawa was still his superior, Yahaba had discarded his previous formality and begun to treat him as an equal, much to Oikawa’s outward chagrin. “I’d tell you to go home but I know you won’t. Just don’t work yourself too hard, especially if you’re already sick.”

“I’m not sick!”

“You look like hell, Oikawa. Take a nap under your desk or something.” Yahaba gave him a crooked smile, and headed back to his cubicle. Oikawa glared at his coffee mug, as if it were personally responsible for every one of his grievances. The mug refused to apologize, remaining stubbornly inanimate. Oikawa heaved a sigh and got up to find a mirror, thinking that of all his countless problems at the moment, at the very least he could fix his hair.

 

 

Five hours and three horribly long meetings later, which Oikawa had stumbled through with only a bare minimum of coherence, he found himself sitting at his desk once more and really, really not wanting to go home. At least at work there were things to do, whether or not he had the presence of mind to do them. But at home, it was just him and his thoughts, and Oikawa didn’t relish the prospect of some quality time with his own brain.

Most of his coworkers had already left. Yahaba, as usual, was bickering over the phone as he shrugged on his coat, and it reminded Oikawa strongly of Iwa-chan.

“No, I specifically said to start defrosting it at six, or we won’t be able to eat until – oh, no, don’t you try that with me. I left you at least three separate post-its. Well, that’s not my fault! How can you miss a neon-pink note on the front hall mirror? Where could I possibly put it to make it more obvious?” Yahaba’s voice became less and less audible as he stalked down the hall, gesturing emphatically at the air.

Oikawa pulled out his own phone and tossed it from hand to hand. He should call Iwa-chan and talk it out. But that required the fortitude to swallow his pride and admit to his anxieties, and Oikawa wasn’t feeling very strong at the moment.

Instead, he called Sugawara. But it wasn’t Sugawara who picked up.

 _“Well hello there,”_ said a distinctly female voice. Oikawa took the phone from his ear and stared at it, wondering briefly if he’d called the wrong number. But no, it was definitely Sugawara, his contact ID confirmed it.

“Hello to you too,” he said, “may I ask who is taking Suga-chan’s calls for him?”

_“Matsushita Satoko, it’s a pleasure. If you’re looking for Suga, he’s busy at the moment. There was a three-car pile-up on the 48, it’s been quite the night. You’re the boyfriend, right?”_

“I am the boyfriend, yes.”

_“I can tell him you called, if you want.”_

“No no, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll call him back later.”

_“Suit yourself. It was nice talking to you, sworn enemy of Suga-kun.”_

Oikawa’s brows shot up. “Excuse me, did you say sworn enemy?”

_“That’s what he called you when you first came in. I have a feeling it’s more complicated than that, but the nickname stuck.”_

“I’m not sure how I feel about that, to be honest.”

_“It was that or steamy-hate-sex-in-a-broom-closet guy. Sworn enemy is much less of a mouthful.”_

“For your information, it wasn’t a broom closet, it was a room with a proper lock on the door. I have standards. And Suga-chan told you about that?”

_“He didn’t have to, the evidence was written all over him. Nice work, might I add.”_

“Thank you,” said Oikawa, smiling in spite of himself.

_“No problem at all. Anyway, I’m getting paged, I have to go reattach a finger. Hope to see you again some time!”_

She hung up. Oikawa put the phone down, oddly reassured.

 

***

 

Satoko was biting her lip in a manner that suggested trouble.

“Yes?” said Suga, peeling off a pair of latex gloves. His fingers felt chalky.

“Guess who I spoke to…” she glanced up and to the side, sweetly, and laced her hands behind her back.

Suga smirked. “Do I have to guess, or will you tell me?”

“If I ask you to guess, will you actually guess?”

Suga pretended to consider this very seriously. “I would, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me anyway.”

“Eh, true. McSteamy called you. Like the good friend I am, I tried to take a message, but he said he’d call you back instead.”

“McSteamy?”

“Well, he clearly isn’t your nemesis any longer, and steamy-hate-sex-guy doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“Why not McDreamy? Why does he have to be the sleazy one?” Suga paused. “No, I take it back, he’s the sleazy one.”

“Harsh, Suga-kun! He seemed perfectly lovely on the phone.”

“Yes but we also had sex on hospital property.”

Satoko tapped her chin with one finger. “Then again, so did McDreamy.”

“Hm. Good point.” Suga plucked his phone off the nurses’ desk and checked for messages. His smile was fleeting, but Satoko caught it.

“Aww! You really like him, don’t you?”

Suga sighed. “I do. I seem to have a thing for exasperating types. Speaking of whom, don’t you have work to do?”

Satoko grinned. “I am a healer by profession, and that extends farther than nursing. As your personal relationship guru, my duty is to ensure your happiness.”

“Yes,” said Suga, looking down at the pile of charts on the desk that was growing as they spoke, “you’re right. The actually sick can wait, this is much more important. Too bad I’m not paying you to chat up my boyfriend.”

“Bantering,” Satoko said, grabbing a handful of charts, “we were bantering. There is a fine line between banter and flirting, and I did not cross it.”

“One would hope,” Suga replied.

Satoko clicked her tongue and walked off to check on her patients. “Not flirting!” she called, over her shoulder. Suga laughed, and waved her off.

 

***

 

Suga met Oikawa at the train station this time, and they walked over to the coffee shop together. It was the same coffee shop as before; Suga was secretly hoping to reclaim it as a date spot, and get rid of the small but present sense of foreboding he got when he walked by it. After all, they served amazing strawberry daifuku.

Suga ordered two coffees and an assortment of mochi. For some reason, he was craving sweets today. Must be his particularly good mood, sweets and happiness always went well together.

Oikawa popped a green mochi ball into his mouth before Suga even had a chance to put down the plate. Suga sat down and went straight for the daifuku, not trusting that Oikawa would leave it uneaten for long.

“So” he said between small bites, “how’d you like the dinner party?”

Oikawa finished chewing. “Bokuto and Kuroo seem like a lot to handle. But I like them. And Bokuto appreciates my talent for swimming, so I can’t complain.”

Suga laughed derisively. “He’s never seen you swim.”

“Yes, well, that didn’t stop him from expressing his admiration. And he’s right to do so; I am, after all, quite good at swimming.”

Suga’s knee brushed Oikawa’s under the table. He left it there, just lightly touching. “Maybe I’ll have to come see for myself, some time.”

Oikawa smiled down at his mug. “Maybe you will.”

Silence descended on the table. Oikawa took another mochi ball and began prying it apart, examining the insides. Suga glanced between Oikawa’s eyes and his hands, both moving a little bit too quickly. Something seemed off.

“You’re pretty quiet today,” said Suga, “everything alright?”

Oikawa looked up, and smoothed the frown off his face. “Hm? No. I mean yes, everything is fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Oikawa opened his mouth, and closed it again. He looked down at the crumbling mochi. “I’ve… been thinking.”

“Yes?” Suga prompted.

Oikawa stared out the shop window. He seemed to be composing his thoughts, and Suga let him think, slowly emptying a single sugar packet into his cup. He stirred, watching, took a sip and stirred some more.

“I don’t know how to talk about this,” Oikawa murmured. Suga almost didn’t catch it.

“Well,” Suga said, “no harm in trying.”

“There might be,” Oikawa snapped. "Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything."

Suga sat back in his chair, a little bit miffed and trying to keep it off his face. “You can talk to me, you know. I don’t bite.”

Oikawa’s laugh was hollow. “I know. Boy, do I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Suga’s words came out sounding clipped, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

Oikawa glared. “We’re doing this, are we?”

“Doing what?”

“You’re going to press me until I give in and tell you what’s bothering me? You sure you want to hear it?”

“Okay, first of all, I don’t mean to press you. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to talk about it. And second, why wouldn’t I want to know? You’re upset, let me help.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Of course. No, you know what, let’s talk about it. Give you a chance to work some of that Sugawara charm, shall we?”

“The fuck are you talking about, Oikawa?”

Oikawa's frown deepened, and he went back to staring out the window. Suga waited, not taking his eyes off Oikawa's face. This was really, really not good. 

After several tense, drawn-out minutes, Oikawa dropped his hands sharply on the table and faced him. "Am I one of your 'charity cases?'" Oikawa puts the words 'charity cases' in finger quotes.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Sawamura seems to think you're some kind of saint. Are you just here because you pity me?"

"Oikawa, what are you doing?"

"I was awful to you, and you're still here. Why? Do you think I need saving? Or are you just too nice for your own good?"

Oikawa's words hit him like a fist to the gut. "Of all people, I didn't expect you to see me that way."

"What way?"

Suga sat forward in his chair. "Do you know how tiring that is? People calling me an angel all the time? I don't do what I do because I have this bottomless reserve of generosity. I'm just me. And then there's this pressure, building up behind me, like I have to be Mother Theresa all the time and what if I can't? What if I'm just having an off day and I can't save everyone? If _you_ snap at someone, it’s normal, it’s just Oikawa being Oikawa, but if I do it, everyone around me is horrified. The word fucking ends when Suga is too tired or too annoyed to be nice anymore, and can’t stand it.”

Oikawa glared. “Well I’m sorry you feel that way, I can’t imagine what you’ve done to deserve such a horrible burden.”

Sugawara shook his head, eyes flashing. “Yeah, you know what, it is a burden. And maybe I brought it on myself, maybe I should have been meaner to everyone around me from the start.” He paused, swallowing hard.

“Like I am?” Oikawa spat. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“What?” Suga felt halfway between confused and exasperated. “No! You’re putting words in my mouth!”

“I am though, aren’t I?” said Oikawa. “I was petty and unforgivably rude in high school. Sawamura doesn’t seem to think I’ve changed, and why should you?”

“I’m not basing my judgment of you on seventeen-year-old Oikawa,” Suga said, in a harsh whisper. People had begun to stare. “I’m willing to throw out everything I remember from back then because you _are_ different, you’ve been actually decent to me, and that’s what matters.”

“So trusting, Suga-chan. How saintly of you to forgive my transgressions.”

Suga’s jaw set, teeth slightly bared. “Stop, okay? Just stop! If you're going to put me on a pedestal, like everyone else does, it's not worth it to me to be here!"

They both sat, stunned into silence for a moment, as that sunk in. Had he really just told Oikawa he was willing to end this? Suga’s mind tried to backpedal, but he was at a complete and sudden loss for words.

"Fine." Oikawa stood, and snatched his coat off the back of his chair. "If it's not worth it to you, I'll go."

“Oikawa–”

“What?” Oikawa was standing, one arm in his jacket, looking absolutely furious. Suga tried to say something, anything. But nothing came out.

Oikawa’s face went from anger to complete lack of emotion, as if an iron door had dropped on his expression. And, without another word, he went.

Suga sat, staring at that same coffee-shop door, for the second time, wondering what the hell just happened. He left the cups and the half-empty plate of mochi on the table and walked out, limbs moving mechanically and without much conscious direction. He couldn’t see Oikawa anymore; he’d disappeared somewhere into the crowds of people on the sidewalk. There one moment, gone the next.

So that was it then.

 

 

Suga got on the train in a daze. There were people around him, bumping his shoulders, jostling, stepping on his shoes. He didn’t really feel it. He stared out the window too long, and missed his stop. He got out three stops later and caught the returning train, and if this were any other day he would be furious with himself but today it didn’t seem to matter. He could loop around the city for hours and it probably wouldn’t matter.

It was going to rain soon. The clouds threatened. Suga wondered if he’d get caught in the downpour, but he didn’t. He made it home, getting on the elevator as usual, unlocking his door with a practiced flick of the wrist because his lock was slightly broken, like he always did. Lined his shoes up in the closet and hung his coat, same as every single day he’d been in this apartment. He looked around, surveying the bookshelves, the three-person couch, the abandoned teacups on the table. The heavy silence constricted his chest. He flipped the radio on to fight it, and a song he recognized as Bokuto’s favourite j-pop cacophony filled his ears with… something, at least.   

He sat down on the couch. He stared at nothing.

It was ages before the tears came.

 


	10. Just Like the Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_“Hello?”_

“Daichi what the hell did you say to him?”

Suga paced around his kitchen, angrily swiping at his eyes. He vaguely remembered reading somewhere about the five stages of grief. It was supposed to be a progression from one stage to the next, but that must be wrong because at least four of them were hitting him at once.

_“Suga? What’s wrong?”_

“Oikawa, that’s what’s wrong.” Suga’s grip on his cell phone was strangling. “What did you say?”

_“Nothing. I said I was looking out for you, that’s all.”_

“No, there was more than that.” Suga stalked back and forth on the tiling, breath coming out in short bursts. “He said you think I’m a saint.”

_“Yeah, well…”_

“Daichi, stop it, okay? Don’t do that to me.”

_“Do what? Compliment you?”_

“I’m not a fucking saint!” He was yelling now. His neighbours could complain, but they would just have to deal with it. “I am a human being who occasionally is nice and occasionally fucks up and that is alright with me, but I am not a saint. And you will not put that on me.”

_“Whoa, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”_

Suga tugged at a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I’m sorry, that came out… louder than I intended. I didn’t mean–”

_“No, it’s okay. I mean, I wish you’d said something sooner, before you got upset, but it’s okay. I’m glad you told me.”_

Suga stopped pacing. He covered half his face with his remaining hand, the one not holding the phone.

“Oikawa’s– I think he’s gone.”

_“Gone? You sure?”_

“Pretty sure this time. I sort of told him this whole… thing, it wasn’t worth it to me.”

_“What? I thought you really liked him.”_

“I do, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean it that way, it just kind of came out.”

_“Then you have to tell him that. I’m sure he’ll understand if you explain.”_

“I’ll try. Thanks Daichi, I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

_“Don’t be sorry. You are, in fact, only human.”_

Suga laughed weakly. “Thank you.”

_“No problem. I have to get back to work, but why don’t you come over tonight and we can sort this out together, alright?”_

“Okay.”

 

***

 

“What the hell, Shittykawa, did you walk here? You’re dripping wet!”

“My knee hurts,” Oikawa muttered, trying his best not to start shivering. “Can I come in?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Iwaizumi huffed, and yanked him through the doorway by his collar.

Inside, Oikawa peeled off his jacket and dropped it onto the floor while Iwaizumi found him an armful of towels. He draped one around Oikawa’s shoulders, examining his face for signs of distress. They probably weren’t hard to find.

“What happened?” Iwaizumi asked, softly.

Oikawa exhaled all of the air in his lungs, and slumped forward to rest his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I’m not worth it,” he said at last.

“Where did you get that idea?” Iwaizumi said. He was trying to sound snarky, but he was too worried to properly pull it off.

“He said so himself,” Oikawa replied. Iwaizumi rubbed small, slow circles into the middle of his back, tracing a knob in Oikawa’s spine.

With Iwa-chan there to catch him, Oikawa broke down and sobbed.

 

***

 

Suga sipped his tea in utter misery. Daichi sat beside him on the couch, with Kuroo’s exceptionally long legs draped over both of them.

“What exactly did you say?” Kuroo asked, cracking one eye open.  

“I don’t remember. I was angry. Something along the lines of ‘this isn’t worth it to me if you’re going to pretend I’m some kind of angel.’ But I think all he took from that was the ‘you’re not worth it’ part.”

Daichi squeezed his shoulders. “Don’t worry, we can fix this. He probably thought you were trying to break up, if you just talk to him–”

“I would, if he’d answer my calls.” Suga pursed his lips. “How ironic.”

“Is there any other way you can get in touch with him?”

Suga shook his head. “Short of ambushing him at his own apartment, no. And he probably wouldn’t even let me in the front door.”

“What about his work?” Kuroo offered. “He’s shown up at yours a bunch of times, it would be like, symbolism or some shit. Like you’ve come full circle. When you think about it, it’s kind of romantic.”

“That would help if I actually knew where he worked. Next idea?”

“Could you call Iwaizumi?” asked Daichi. “He might be able to help.”

Suga listlessly studied the couch cushions. “Even if I got a hold of his phone number, Oikawa won’t talk to me, and therefore I’d be willing to bet that Iwaizumi won’t either.”

Daichi tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Well, I’m out. Kuroo?”

“I think all that’s left is just to keep calling him until he caves. Fill up his voicemail, that’s what I would do. He’ll have to listen to it eventually, if only to clear out his messages.” Kuroo folded his arms over his chest. “At least that way he knows you still care enough to keep trying.”

“Oikawa hates giving in,” said Suga. He dropped his head into his hands. “That could go on for months. But I guess it’s all I have.”

Daichi leaned against him. “I’m sorry, Suga. This is all my fault, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Suga said, resting his head on Daichi’s shoulder. “And I was the one who ended up yelling at him. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“Would it help if I also blame myself?” Kuroo asked sarcastically, prompting Daichi to pinch him in the leg. Kuroo yelped, and rubbed at the sore spot. “Nope, Daichi, you’re right, you’re a horrible person and it’s all your fault.”

This drew a little laugh out of Suga, and Daichi smiled warmly in response. Suga’s gaze fell to his phone, resting on the coffee table. At least he could try. The absolute worst would be to do nothing at all.

Kuroo sat up and stretched. “Well, now that we have some semblance of a plan, who’s up for dinner?” He padded over to the kitchen to grab the boxes of take-out and a handful of mismatched chopsticks from a drawer. Daichi flicked on the TV and settled in closer, one arm around Suga’s shoulders. Suga let him; whenever Daichi felt like he’d screwed up, he got this hurt puppy look on his face, and only physical contact seemed to fix it. It was also one of the many reasons it was literally impossible to stay mad at Daichi. Suga exhaled slowly and squished himself further into Daichi’s side, exhaling the tension out breath by breath.

The channel was already set to one of Kuroo’s trashy reality shows. A man wearing far too much hair gel was yelling slurred insults and gesturing at his female companion, also wearing too much hair gel and also yelling. They were standing outside on a boardwalk, the light from the streetlamps casting unflattering shadows and washing out their skin tones so badly they looked faintly green. Even the camera-work was terrible; as the shot panned to include a large crowd of onlookers, Suga’s eye was caught by the appearance of the fluffy grey boom at the top of the screen.

Daichi groaned, and grabbed the remote again, but Suga stopped his hand. Something was tugging at his brain.

“You actually want to watch this crap?” Daichi said, incredulous.

Suga stared at the screen, willing the boom to come back into the shot. There – right there. His eyes went wide.

“I have it. Oh my god, it’s perfect! Daichi, I have to go, I have phone calls to make.”

Kuroo reappeared at just the right moment to watch Suga hop around his entrance hall like a lunatic, trying to get his shoes on. He and Daichi watched with twin expressions of confusion as Suga dashed out the door.

 

***

 

“Get up, asshole. You’re going to work.”

Iwaizumi dropped a bundle of clothes on Oikawa’s face. He was still buried under about a dozen blankets on his friend’s couch, stubbornly refusing to face the fact that, as the world turns and time marches inevitably on, Monday had arrived.

“Nmph,” Oikawa replied into a pile of pillows.

“Yes. Yes you are. I’m not going to let you mope around my house any longer, you’re only going to feel worse.”

Oikawa peeked at him from under the pair of dress pants Iwaizumi had dumped on him. He’d probably picked them up from Oikawa’s apartment, no doubt having woken up early to drive there and back. Oikawa started to feel guilty until he remembered that Iwa-chan had only brought him clothes so he wouldn’t have an excuse not to go in today.

“You don’t know me,” he mumbled. Even his spite sounded weak.

“I don’t know you.” Iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow. “You’re right. Also the sky is green and hell is a nice place to go cross-country skiing. Get dressed, Trashikawa, you’re going to make me late.”

“Coffee?” Oikawa croaked.

“In a thermos by the front door. You can drink it in the car, we’ve only got half an hour left. And yes, I put all of the sugar in. Literally all of it, you pretty much cleaned out my stash yesterday, so don’t complain if it’s not sweet enough.”

Oikawa smiled, and a tiny bit of self-pity ebbed from his system. He examined the clothes he’d been given, a plain white shirt and charcoal slacks. Not a combination he would have put together himself, but Iwaizumi always leaned toward the more conservative side when it came to work attire. Maybe he could rifle through Iwa-chan’s tie rack for a splash of colour.

Oikawa’s thorough blow-drying routine ended up making them both late, but Iwa-chan was uncharacteristically un-irritated by it. Oikawa sipped his coffee (not sweet enough) and watched as Iwaizumi started the car.

“Are you going to be okay on your own tonight?” Iwaizumi asked.

Oikawa chewed on his lip. “We’ll see.”

“You know you can call me any time if you need to talk.”

“I know.” Oikawa absently gazed out at the rows of shops and trees and sidewalks, all tinged with gray by the cloud cover. It might rain again today, he thought idly.

“Oikawa.”

“Hm?” He turned. Iwaizumi gripped the steering wheel, but his face was composed.

“I know I can’t tell you how to live your life, or conduct your relationships, or anything like that. And even if I tried, you’d probably do the exact opposite, just to prove a point.” He slowed to a stop for a red light, and met Oikawa’s eyes. “But I really think that Sugawara would be good for you, if you can work this out. And I’m willing to bet that you can.”

The light changed, and Iwaizumi’s eyes turned back to the road. “I think you have a tendency to let your insecurities cloud your vision, in a manner of speaking. And maybe you’re right, maybe Sugawara isn’t invested in making this work, but I think it’s at least worth a try.”

Oikawa crossed his arms over the dashboard and rested his head on them. “You done?” he asked, a little more edgy than he’d intended.

“Yeah, I’m done. Just think about it.”

He didn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it was to rub salt in some of his oldest wounds. Thinking about it wasn’t a rational process, like it was supposed to be. Instead it devolved into a scrolling banner of self-deprecation across his mind’s eye.

_You’re not worth it. You’re not worth loving. You pushed him away. You push everyone away._

_You’re not good enough._

_You’re not good enough._

_You’re not good enough._

 

***

 

Work went by at a snail’s pace, his brain fog mirrored by the dreary cast of the low and heavy clouds. He felt weighed down. Writing reports seemed like an insurmountable task at the moment, so he spent the morning replying to backlogged emails, some of them only with a single word, when he couldn’t be bothered to respond in any more detail. More horrendous meetings were confirmed. Budgets were skimmed. He read one irate email from a client who thought that their very colourful magazine ad used the wrong shade of purple, and groaned loudly into his fist. That one was flagged for follow-up later, he really did not have the energy or the will to mediate conflicts between clients and the art department at the moment.

With only twenty minutes to go until his lunch break, Yahaba popped his head into Oikawa’s office. Oikawa looked up from his mind-numbing spreadsheets, bleary-eyed.

“I thought I told you to get some rest,” said Yahaba, sounding unimpressed.

“I tried. It didn’t work. What do you need, Yahaba-kun?”

“Someone here to see you. That guy from Karasuno, his name escapes me.”

Oikawa practically leapt out of his chair. It fell to the carpeted floor behind him with a muffled thump. Yahaba regarded him with mild amusement.

“Send him in,” Oikawa said, suddenly breathless.

Yahaba waved behind him, and – oh.

“Ennoshita-kun,” said Oikawa, rubbing his forehead. Stupid, stupid. Of course it wasn’t him.

“Hi,” said Ennoshita, clutching a stack of papers to his chest. He was wearing one of those headsets that allowed for easy communication between a director and his cameramen. “Um, I need you downstairs for a few minutes. We’re working on the SmileBrite commercial, and some of the execs want changes. They asked for you.”

Oikawa nodded, and trailed behind Ennoshita as he led the way to the elevators. Their soundstage was in the basement of the building, where they shot most of their photography campaigns and the occasional commercial, if the required set was small enough. If Oikawa recalled correctly, the SmileBrite toothpaste ad was set entirely in a bathroom, so it didn’t require very much space to film.

“What kind of changes?” Oikawa asked, watching the numbers flash as the elevator descended.

Ennoshita rocked back and forth on his feet. He seemed far more energetic than the situation required. Must be some scary executives down there if they’d spooked Ennoshita that badly. “They didn’t tell me,” he said. “I’m just the director, you’re the one running this whole operation. They would only talk to you.”

Oikawa closed his eyes. Great, they were high-maintenance too. Could have just sent a memo, but no, they probably wanted to argue their case with Oikawa in person, maybe with yelling. This was the absolute last thing he needed today.

The elevator dinged at the studio floor, and Ennoshita stepped out, one arm holding the doors open for Oikawa. He led Oikawa down the hall and onto the set, which was… bare. Except for some strings of dimly burning incandescent bulbs they had used a month ago for a fashion photography session, the set was completely bare.

Oikawa turned to Ennoshita, frowning. But Ennoshita was already ducking out of the way, smiling conspiratorially at a point behind Oikawa’s head.

“What’s going on?” Oikawa called, hopelessly confused.

Ennoshita’s grin widened until it threatened to swallow his ears. “You’re welcome,” he said over his shoulder, then slipped out and let the door close on its own.  

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. Oikawa whipped around and there he was, emerging from behind the flats that made up the back wall of the set. He was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt and tan-coloured chinos, hands shoved in his pockets. The incandescent light reflected off his silver hair, making it glow.

“Hey,” Oikawa breathed, not daring to move.

“I said some things…” Sugawara trailed off. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Oikawa, I think you took my meaning the wrong way.”

Oikawa’s heart sped up. “Then what was the right way?” he asked, his voice tight with apprehension.

“What I was trying to tell you,” he said, “was that I just want to feel like I can be myself around you. And so far, I have been. Myself, I mean. I want it to stay that way.”

“It can,” said Oikawa, hoarsely.

“Good.” Sugawara looked at his shoes, then back up at Oikawa. A fond smile spread across his features. “And I don’t know if you know this, but you are worth it, to me. This whole thing–” he gestured between the two of them, “is worth it. A hundred percent.”

Oikawa let out his breath. He wasn’t going to cry, nope, absolutely not. Crying was for the weak.

Oh, who was he kidding. Sugawara Koushi was his biggest weakness, and he damn well knew it.

“Suga,” said Oikawa, and his voice caught.

Sugawara closed the distance between them and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry, Oikawa, I–”

“For god’s sake, don’t do that to me again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“I can’t, I just, you were–”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” Oikawa blurted out, and immediately clamped his mouth shut. Well that wasn’t exactly what he’d planned to say. He buried his face in Sugawara’s shirt, mind reeling from embarrassment, and all the possible horrible rejections he might have to face in the next minute.

Sugawara’s shoulders started shaking, and it took Oikawa a moment to realize that he was laughing. Shit, what was he supposed to do now? Nothing, apparently, because Sugawara did it for him. He framed Oikawa’s face in both his hands and kissed him deeply, their noses squishing together, pressing his tongue into Oikawa’s mouth like the world was going to end. Oikawa wound his arms around Sugawara’s waist and squeezed him as close as physically possible, until they were both breathless and staring stupidly into each other’s eyes.

From the general direction of the doorway, someone sneezed. It was followed immediately by cursing. Oikawa recognized the colourful language as something only Mad-Dog-chan could have come up with.

“YAHABA!” he yelled over his shoulder, suddenly furious. More cursing, and the studio door swung shut again, two sets of footsteps rapidly receding down the hall. Sugawara giggled and leaned against Oikawa’s chest.

“I swear to god, I’m actually going to get him fired this time,” Oikawa sputtered.

“It’s my fault,” Sugawara said, “I made a deal with Ennoshita. He helped me win you back, and in return, he gets the movie rights to our story.”

“Are we so dramatic, Suga-chan?”

“Let’s just hope he didn’t get this on film,” Sugawara replied. His hands worked their way back up into Oikawa’s hair, and Oikawa leaned into his touch.

“So we’re good?” Sugawara asked.

“Definitely,” said Oikawa.

“Good, because as I recall, I still owe you a favour.”

“Mhm, you certainly do.”

Sugawara glanced around the set. “You think there’s a supply closet around here somewhere?”

“At my place of work? Scandalous, Suga-chan!”

Sugawara checked his watch. “It’s still morning, therefore I’m still devilish. And it was all well and good when it was at my work…”

“That was different.”

“How, pray tell, was it different?”

Oikawa sniffed, and slung an arm around Sugawara’s shoulders. “Well it’s all right if _you_ are the subject of office gossip. I, on the other hand, have a pristine reputation to uphold.”

“Right, sorry, I wouldn’t dream of tarnishing your reputation.” Sugawara wiggled his eyebrows, and grabbed Oikawa around the waist, pulling him in the direction of a non-descript door at the back of the studio. Oikawa narrowed his eyes and protested the whole way, bemoaning his loss of virtue. For all his bluster, however, he did nothing to slow Sugawara down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~(˘▽˘~) (~˘▽˘)~ 
> 
> Hoot hoot motherfuckers, the main story is finished! I do have an epilogue planned, though it is still in the early phases of writing. I have a lot of ideas about Kuroo and Daichi’s wedding, so that will have to happen, though the wait could be a little longer than my previous updates.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed my ramblings, and like any other author on this weird and wonderful website, you know I love your comments with all my heart. I’ve gotten so much incredible feedback on this story already, it’s definitely the longest, most in-depth piece of creative work I’ve ever put on the internet and I am soooo happy to hear that my readers are enjoying it!


	11. Epilogue: One Year Later

“Come on, hurry up Kou-chan! I wanna see!”

He heard laughter from the bathroom. “Has anyone ever told you that patience is a virtue?”

Oikawa sat on the edge of the plush hotel bed and tried not to squirm. How long did it take to knot a tie? “Need any help in there?” Oikawa called, fully aware that his reasons for offering were entirely selfish.

“All done.” The bathroom door opened just a crack. “You ready?”

“Oh for god sakes, would you–”

Oikawa’s words died in his throat as Sugawara emerged from the bathroom. Sugawara’s face broke into a very satisfied smile. “You like?” he asked, twirling slowly to give Oikawa a full three-sixty degree view.

Oikawa stood, and held Sugawara by the shoulders at arm’s length. He let his eyes roam over the slim-fitting navy suit that was currently making his head spin and his mouth go dry. “Wow. Yes. I like.”

Sugawara chuckled. “Down boy,” he said, pressing his cheek down onto his shoulder to brush Oikawa’s hand.

Oikawa swallowed hard. “Do you think we have time for…”

“No, we most definitely do not.” He leaned up and kissed Oikawa on the nose. “Plus, it’ll be way more fun if I keep you waiting.”

“Koushi!” Oikawa whined.

“Come on, we’re already late.” Sugawara checked his phone, and grimaced. “And, as predicted, Daichi’s freaking out. I’ve gotta get down there, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Oikawa pouted. Sugawara looked at him with fond exasperation and planted a kiss on his cheek before jogging out the door.

 

***

 

Suga found Daichi in his own room, pacing back and forth, his suit jacket discarded on the bed and sleeves hanging loose from their cufflinks. When he saw Suga, Daichi visibly sagged with relief.

“Oh, thank god you’re here. Can I borrow your phone? My sister took mine because I needed to relax but I have to call the caterers, I forgot to remind them that Yui is allergic to shellfish and my mum needs her steak well done and–”

Suga grabbed Daichi’s face between his palms. “Breathe, Daichi,” he said. “It’s going to be fine. You left them five messages last night. They know.”

Daichi wrinkled his nose. “But Kuroo’s parents were adamant that–”

“I will take care of Kuroo’s parents. You need to focus on getting ready. And take some deep breaths, you’re sweating through your shirt.”

Daichi rested his head on Suga’s shoulder. “You’re right. You’re always right. I’m so glad you’re here, Suga.”

“Of course I’m here.” Suga patted him on the back. “It’s just nerves, that’s supposed to happen on your wedding day. Remember, the only thing that matters about today is you and Kuroo. That’s it, just focus on Kuroo.”

He felt Daichi smile against his shoulder, and Suga knew he’d hit on the right way to calm his friend down. “You can do this, Daichi. Just think about how happy he’s going to be when he sees you.”

 

***

 

Oikawa milled about the lawn in the stifling Australian heat, trying to figure out to which side of the aisle he and Sugawara had been assigned. There were two people sitting on the left that looked very much like Sawamura, the man all strong shoulders and broad hands, while the woman definitely had Sawamura’s eyes. But then Kuroo’s mother was sitting on the same side, arms crossed, and a man who looked so much like Kuroo that he could only be his father sat as far away as possible on the right. Oikawa decided to wander a bit more, admiring the flowers strung up in banners along the walls, and wait for some sort of definitive sign. Caught up in his appraisal of the decorator’s choice of colour scheme, he wandered right into Kenma.

“Sorry, Kenma-chan, didn’t see you there.”

Kenma looked him over disapprovingly. “Where’s Akaashi?” he said in a very quiet monotone.

“Akaashi?” Oikawa thought for a moment. “I haven’t seen him this morning.”

Kenma’s lips twitched. “You’ll do. Come on,” he said, turning back toward the hotel. Oikawa trotted after him, intrigued.

Kenma led Oikawa into a back room behind the hotel lobby. The two of them found Kuroo lounging in a dining chair, earphones in, miming a drumbeat with his hands. He stopped when he saw Oikawa and pulled one earbud out.

“That’s not Akaashi,” said Kuroo lazily.

Kenma tutted. “He can do it. Look.” He pointed at Oikawa's neck.

“Do what?” Oikawa asked.

Kuroo smirked. “Apparently neither of us can tie a decent bow.” He gestured to the unknotted bow tie hanging loose at his collar. “WikiHow made it look so easy.”

Oikawa bit back a laugh and motioned for Kuroo to stand up. He did, and Oikawa went to work, looping and knotting with practiced fingers. Kuroo didn’t seem to know where to look, and settled for making faces at Kenma over Oikawa’s shoulder.

Oikawa tweaked the bow, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. He cast a glance at Kenma, who nodded in approval. Kuroo grinned and turned to face the mirror. His suit and bedhead were an incongruous combination, Oikawa thought to himself, but somehow it worked. He wondered idly what Kuroo would look like with his hair gelled down. He probably wouldn’t look much like Kuroo anymore.

“Perfect,” said Kuroo, checking himself out, literally; he was making bedroom eyes at his reflection. “Kenma, how are we doing for time?”

“Ten minutes,” Kenma replied, sounding bored. Kuroo took a deep breath, and plopped back down in his chair.

“You’re going to wrinkle your jacket that way,” said Oikawa.

“Am I? Shit.” Kuroo sat up straight and smoothed his suit jacket down.

Oikawa giggled. “You obviously never had to sit through any of your parents’ black-tie dinner parties as a child.”

Kuroo cocked an eyebrow. “You know, that explains an awful lot about you, Oikawa.”

Just then, Bokuto burst into the room, trailing an exasperated-looking Akaashi. The hem of his dress shirt peeked out from underneath his jacket.

“Hey hey hey, Kuroo, you look great!”

“Thanks bro,” said Kuroo, stretching his arms as much as the jacket would allow. “You know you’re supposed to tuck your shirt in, right?”

Akaashi groaned. “Don’t even bother, Kuroo-san. Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

Bokuto frowned at Akaashi. “Shirts make me itchy. And what’s the point? It’s just going to untuck itself later.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t if you sat still. Anyway, we should find our seats.” Akaashi took Bokuto by the arm. “Oikawa-san? Will you join us?”

Oikawa nodded, and threw one last glance at Kuroo. He had closed his eyes and was breathing deeply, striving for a last-minute sense of calm before the ceremony begun. Oikawa patted his pocket, and turned to follow Akaashi out the door.

 

***

 

The ceremony was beautiful, it was everything a wedding was supposed to be. Oikawa was sheepishly grateful that Sugawara had come prepared with a handful of linen handkerchiefs, as he definitely needed more than one. He tried not to cry, he really did. But it was Kuroo’s smile that did him in, the one that spread across his face and crinkled his eyes in the most genuine expression of real joy, when Sawamura stepped up next to him on the dais. That was also the moment Sugawara slipped his hand in Oikawa’s and squeezed, and Oikawa felt his heart swell to its breaking point.

On his other side, Iwaizumi was maddeningly dry-eyed, though Yui was getting misty. Oikawa received the pointy end of Iwaizumi’s elbow several times, when his badly-muffled hiccupping threatened to drown out the officiating justice. It wasn’t Oikawa’s fault that weddings made him sappy. Iwa-chan may be more robot than human, but _some_ people should be excused for getting a little bit sentimental.

After they’d had their first kiss as lawfully wedded husbands, and a tornado of flower petals had blanketed the aisle as they walked down hand in hand, Daichi and Kuroo led everyone out to take photos by the massive eucalyptus tree at the back of the lawn, overlooking the ocean. Oikawa and Sugawara followed, shoulders brushing, squinting as the sun broke through the sparse cloud cover.

Sugawara barely got two words in with Daichi’s parents before he was whisked away to take a group shot of the old Karasuno volleyball club, team members one through five making increasingly ridiculous faces as Ennoshita hopped around to photograph them from all possible angles. Before Oikawa knew what was happening, Kuroo snuck up behind him and dragged him into a backwards hug. Oikawa flailed a bit before regaining his footing, and he shot Kuroo a peeved look as he smoothed out the new wrinkles in his previously-pristine jacket.

“Ah,” Kuroo said, holding up one finger, “you can’t get mad at me on my wedding day, Oikawa. It’s pretty much a free pass.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Kuroo-san,” said Akaashi from behind him, and Kenma shook his head in disapproval.

“Guys, can I talk to Oikawa alone for a minute?” Kuroo asked. Kenma and Akaashi left together, in the direction of the buffet table. The caterers hadn’t yet finished setting up, but that hadn’t seemed to deter Bokuto, and as soon as Akaashi caught sight of his boyfriend he broke into a run.

“Congratulations,” Oikawa said, and the smile he received was disarmingly genuine.

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a little bit more than the summer heat could explain. “Thanks. Really, Oikawa, thank you. I’m…” He glanced fondly over at Sawamura. Oikawa wondered if that was the way his own face looked when he saw Sugawara. He hoped he retained more composure than that, at least.

“…so happy,” Kuroo finished.

“I know, I can see it.” Oikawa gently elbowed him. Kuroo seemed to realize he was staring and turned back to Oikawa. 

“So,” said Oikawa, “was there a reason you wanted to talk? Or should I leave you to ogle your husband.”

Kuroo blushed again at the word ‘husband,’ but he didn’t lose focus this time. “Yes, there was a reason. And I was going to do this more suave, like pull it from behind your ear or something, but I think I’ve missed my moment. Here. Catch.” He flicked something at Oikawa, who caught it neatly in his palm. Oikawa glanced down, and his heart almost stopped.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, where the _fuck_ did you get this?”

“Hey, slow down there, Daichi’s going to be pissed if I don’t survive the first two hours of my marriage.”

By some miracle, Oikawa kept his voice down. “Answer the fucking question Tetsurou!”

“Sleight of hand,” Kuroo said, grinning wickedly. “Just now, when I hugged you. I’d make a great pickpocket, wouldn’t I?”

“How did you even know about it?”

“I didn’t, not really. But you’ve been obsessively checking your pocket all day, I figured there was something interesting going on down there. Sexual innuendo not intended. But hey, turns out I was right.”

“You listen very closely,” Oikawa said, grabbing Kuroo’s shoulder and digging his fingers in underneath Kuroo’s collarbone. He probably only had about a minute before Iwa-chan noticed and came over to break them apart, so he needed to be quick. “You will not tell anyone you saw this. Not Bokuto, not Kenma, and _especially_ not Daichi, do you understand?”

“Oh my god, ow. You need to chill. I’m not going to ruin it for you, relax.”

Oikawa let go of Kuroo, reluctantly, and slipped the object into his inner jacket pocket. In his peripheral vision he could see that Iwaizumi had noticed them, his shoulders tense. Oikawa waved him off without turning. 

“It’s exciting though,” Kuroo said.

“Nothing is going to happen tonight,” Oikawa whispered, “I just didn’t want to leave it in the hotel room for Koushi to find.”

“Fair enough. Still, I’m happy for you guys. Who’s up for another hug?” Kuroo stretched his arms out. Oikawa backed away, a withering look on his face.

“No, no more hugs for you. You’ve lost your privileges.”

“Fine then, I know when I’m not wanted. Bokuto!” Kuroo yelled, startling several of the guests. “You’ll give me a hug, won’t you?”

Oikawa backed up as Bokuto hit Kuroo with a flying tackle, both of them falling to the grass in a tangled heap. He touched his chest. Satisfied that the ring was still there, safe and sound, he headed off to find Sugawara.

 

***

 

The entire wedding party ate outdoors, the canvas of the tent rolled back so they could see the stars. Suga kept sneaking looks at Daichi and Kuroo, as they attempted to smear icing from the wedding cake on each other’s faces. Suga had to look away when Kuroo tried to lick a dollop of icing off Daichi’s nose, blushing a little in second-hand embarrassment.

After dinner, they had their first dance, and Suga breathes a quiet sigh of relief when the song turned out to be romantic and slow. He’d been honestly worried that Kuroo would try to play EDM or something, but Kuroo obviously knew his husband better than that. God, _husband_. His friends were married now. Seemed like yesterday they’d been awkward, hormonal teenagers smashing volleyballs across the court and navigating first crushes, and today they were _here._ It was surreal.

Oikawa appeared from somewhere behind him and held out a hand. “Good evening, sir. May I say that you look particularly ravishing tonight?”

“Oikawa-kun,” Suga replied, fluttering his eyelashes, “are you here to ask me to dance?”

“Would you say yes if I did?”

“Certainly not. Your reputation as an incorrigible flirt precedes you.”

Oikawa stepped closer, a wicked smile forming on his face. “Incorrigible? Or irresistible?”

Suga met his gaze with a grin of his own. “Both, I should think.”

“Dance with me?”

Suga finally took his hand. “I suppose it’s futile to protest. You’ll wear me down eventually, won’t you?”

Oikawa led him onto the dancefloor and laid his other hand on Suga’s hip. “That was the goal. I appreciate you sparing me the effort.”

The tips of Suga’s fingers brushed the downy hair on Oikawa’s neck. He leaned his head on Oikawa’s shoulder as they swayed, watching with a contented smile as Daichi and Kuroo did the same. “You and I both know I cannot resist you. I might as well resign myself to it.”

“Your practicality is admirable, Sugawara-kun. And I rather like the outcome.”

“I know you do,” Suga said, and leaned up for a kiss.

From beside them, Iwaizumi groaned. “Get a room,” he whispered over Yui’s shoulder. Oikawa pulled down an eyelid and stuck out his tongue. Iwaizumi’s face was the picture of revulsion, and Suga had to bury his laughter in Oikawa’s neck.

They stayed like that until the song changed, relaxed, together, content. That is, until Suga’s fears were confirmed at the first few beats of a thumping bassline. From somewhere in the crowd, Bokuto whooped in delight, and Kuroo’s feline grin took on a more devious air.

Bokuto appeared at Kuroo’s side, the sleeves of his jacket pushed up to his elbows, holding two pairs of sunglasses produced from god knows where. Daichi had already slipped out of Kuroo’s arms and was making his way over to Suga with a slightly pained look on his face. Suga looked up to find Oikawa watching intently, his grip around Suga’s waist gone slack.

“Go,” Suga said, pinching Oikawa gently on the arm. “Go, dance with them, have fun.”

Oikawa flashed a brilliant smile, kissed him hastily on the forehead, and was off. Just in time for Suga to receive into his arms a frazzled-looking Daichi.

“I can’t watch,” Daichi moaned over Suga’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”

Suga giggled. “Enthusiastic dancing,” he narrated, “some grandparents looking horrified, Bokuto’s shirt is already half-undone, Noya’s climbing onto a table. The usual catastrophe.”

“We had a _deal,_ ” Daichi whined. “What happened to low-key, extended-family-appropriate dancing?”

“I think that went out the window when you married Kuroo,” Suga said blithely. “On the plus side, your mother seems to be enjoying herself.”

“My–” Daichi looked up. Sure enough, Bokuto had dragged Sawamura-san onto the dancefloor and was spinning her around like a ballroom dancer. She was laughing, letting her hair fan out as she twirled. Oikawa had stolen Kuroo’s sunglasses and was bouncing up and down, cheering them on.

Wordlessly, Akaashi appeared on Suga’s other side, a glass of champagne in each hand. He held one out to Daichi sympathetically, and he took it.

 

***

 

The party wrapped up around midnight, after Kuroo had successfully managed to fully submerge Daichi in the ocean, still in his dry-clean-only suit. After the happy couple had left, the rest of the wedding party dispersed until the only people left were Suga, Oikawa, Iwaizumi (with Yui asleep on his lap), and the exhausted catering staff.

The caterers had left them with the last, half-empty bottle of champagne, and Oikawa poured out another round for the three of them. “To Kuroo and Daichi,” he said, raising his glass, “and many years of happiness for them both.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Iwaizumi said.

Suga lifted his glass as well. “To the grooms’ happiness. And our own.” He made sure to brush Oikawa’s arm with his elbow as he downed his glass. “And may I never have to spend eight whole months convincing Daichi to just ask him out already, goddammit.”

Oikawa snorted. “Really?”

“Yes really, those two were a mess before they got together.” Suga nearly winced at the recollection. “Watching Kuroo pine for him was the most agonizing, most hilarious thing I’ve ever witnessed. If you ever though Kuroo Tetsurou was a calm, collected human being, you should have seen him back then.”

Iwaizumi smirked. “Sometimes I forget how lucky we are, that we never, ever have to go back to high school again.” As he spoke, Yui shifted in his lap, and he pressed his cheek into her hair.

Oikawa poured himself another champagne. “To no longer suffering through high school,” he said. His face was already rosy from the alcohol, and he leaned into Suga as he drank.

“I don’t know,” said Suga, “was it so bad?”

Oikawa gave him a look. “You really want to go through the whole hormonal, confused, gay teenager thing again?”

“Okay well that part sucked, I’ll grant you that. But I have nothing but fond memories of the volleyball team. It was like a second family, you know?” Suga sat back in his chair. “For three years, I spent more waking hours in that gym than I did in my own home. And when you’re part of a team like that, all working toward the same thing, celebrating victories together, those were some of the strongest bonds I’ve ever formed. It’s definitely why Daichi and I are still so close.”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared a smile. “Yeah,” said Iwaizumi, “that part was nice.”

“Even when you were whipping volleyballs at my head?” Oikawa said, frowning.

“Especially then.”

“You really never missed it?” Suga asked, nuzzling into Oikawa’s arm. Iwaizumi raised a brow, but didn’t comment.

Oikawa traced circles on the tablecloth with his fingers. “Alright, I used to miss high school. Especially the volleyball part.” He wrapped his arm around Suga and squeezed. “But lately, I think I like my life a lot better now.”

“You guys are so gross,” said Iwaizumi, sticking out his tongue.

“He says, while cradling his significant other to his chest,” Oikawa shot back.

“You wanna go?” Iwaizumi challenged. “I will fight you. For my girlfriend’s honour.”

Oikawa drew his pocket square out with a flourish and presented it to Suga. “My love, I have to accept this duel. Remember me if I die.” He balled up the square of silk and curled Suga’s fingers around it, kissing the hand closed around his token.

“What’s the competition?” Suga asked.

“Being disgustingly cute for the rest of the night, I think,” said Oikawa.

Iwaizumi grimaced. “I take it back, I forfeit. For Suga’s sake.”

But Suga was already pulling Oikawa into the sloppiest, noisiest of make-outs, and Oikawa seemed quite happy to play along. Oikawa climbed into his lap, Suga’s lapels in each hand, and kissed like his face was a plate of spaghetti.

Which really shouldn’t have been this hot.

Suga was dimly aware of Iwaizumi leaving. Oikawa broke away from his lips and licked at his face like a golden retriever, leaving trails of spit all over his cheeks.

“Ew, stop you win!” Suga shrieked, giggling hysterically as Oikawa hit a ticklish part of his neck. He surfaced, grinning maniacally, and planted one last wet _smack_ on Suga’s cheek.

“Did we drive him away?” Oikawa asked, turning to search for Iwaizumi. He and Yui were long gone.

“How are you two still friends?” said Suga with a derisive smile.

“Ah, Iwa-chan. Without me, who would he be constantly yelling at?” Oikawa ran a hand through his hair, fixing the swoop. “He needs me, he’s just too proud to admit it. Kou-chan, your face is all wet.”

“Wonder whose fault that is.”

Oikawa’s expression was the picture of innocence. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Now,” he said, standing up, “shall we leave these poor, overworked caterers to their final clean-up?”

“Are we going to bed already?”

Oikawa scoffed. “Nonsense, the night is in its infancy. Barely learning to crawl. You know, I’ve heard that long walks on the beach under the stars are quite romantic. And I do believe we have a beach at our disposal.”

Suga stood and took his hand. “That we do. After you, sir.”

One hand entwined in Suga’s, the other patting his jacket pocket, Oikawa led the way out from the light of the empty party and into the warm, salt breeze of the ocean at night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS DONE  
> /cries/
> 
> guys I have to go get like sixteen cavities filled after writing this goodbye


End file.
